Life at Tam Lin

The Summer is Short and the Winter is Long

2011-08-05T06:13:00.000-07:00

"Rise up, Jock and sing your song,
For the summer is short and the winter long.
Let's all join hands and form a chain
Till the leaves of springtime bloom again"

That's a song we console ourselves with in the darkest, coldest time of the year. But here it is, August! It's sunny and warm today, not too hot. The garden is burgeoning, the air is sweet. We are now used to wearing shorts and sandals and stepping out without a jacket.

But here it's just far enough north that suddenly we can feel a change, a subtle stirring in the air. The grasses are turning brown, and the insects sound has a slightly heightened urgency. The crop of beans is almost over, and it's harder to find blueberries on the bushes. Strawberries, those harbingers of high summer, are long gone. There's still plenty of time to party and luxuriate in the greenness, the warmth, the ready supply of fresh fruits and vegetables- but it's also time to prepare the root cellar, to stack the wood, and to put food by for what's coming.

Each golden day of summer has been extra sweet this year, it seems. While much of the rest of the country is baking in a prolonged, overheated drought, we've been blessed with slightly-below-normal temps, one brief heat wave, and day after day of achingly beautiful sunny, green gloriousness. I give thanks for the beauty, the sweetness, the fertile, rich ebb of the wave that is summer, so short, so precious. I will savor each moment as much as I can.

What if...?

2011-06-12T16:53:00.000-07:00

As I've wandered off the path of "organized religion", while maintaining a central core of spirituality, I sometimes wonder if I can find a way to sum up my beliefs simply and succinctly. Sort of like Linus in "A Charlie Brown Christmas", where he recites Luke 2 and concludes, "And that's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown!"
(You put your right hand in...)

But this is not easy, as I look around at what gives my life meaning. My family, my home, music, the trees and green growing things outside, the rhythm of the seasons- how do you summarize all this?

(You put your left hand in...)

Teaching, singing, knitting, reading, playing with the dog, nestling with my beloved, communicating with my kids- all give me a deep feeling of satisfaction and connection with more than myself. Walking in the woods, or along the beach, or even on a city sidewalk, centers me, opens me to the Other. Gardening, digging, working hard, working out, reminds me that there is more than myself. Star gazing, listening to exquisite music, remind me of the vastness of all that is, beyond our ability to understand or conceive. Being silly, playful, stops me from taking myself so seriously that I can't experience joy.

(You put your right leg in...)

It's true, there have been times in my life when I have had to reconsider and make changes, and turn myself around. That's all part of the journey.

I remember a conversation with someone I loved dearly, who said he believed we were on this earth to reach beyond earthly things, to separate from the physical and connect to the spiritual. I objected to this philosophy- I said I believed we were on this earth to savor it, experience it, in all its delicious juiciness. That we couldn't experience heaven above unless we experienced it in the joy of living. That it was ALL spiritual, that there was no dichotomy between the physical and the spiritual.

In fact, to summarize my spirituality:

You put your whole self in!

That's what it's all about!

Following the daffodils

2011-05-08T07:31:00.000-07:00

After graduating from Concord (NH) High School in 1977, I took a "gap year", made necessary by some administrative snafus that left me without a scholarship or any other needed funds to go to college that fall. I worked at various retail jobs, and finally decided to follow a dream of tramping around Europe. None of my friends was available (or willing) to make the trek, so on March 1, 1978, I set off on Icelandic Air for Luxembourg, France, Belgium, and the British Isles.

Now, March in New Hampshire is very much still in the grip of winter. I left snow and ice, encountered rain in New York (where we were held over for one night due to strikes in Europe, put up in the Hotel Essex where I slept off the flu I had suddenly contracted), witnessed horizontal snowy blasts for the brief glance out the door in Reykjavik, but when we landed in Luxembourg, it was springtime. We landed in early morning, and I was to take a train to Bordeaux, France, late that afternoon, so I spent the day wandering through the parks of this lovely city, admiring the green grass, budding trees, and the barely budding daffodils.

I stayed in Bordeaux for a week with a penpal and her delightful family. Papa and Maman both worked, and Isabel and Philippe were in school, so I spent my days wandering their small village and catching up on jet lag. The daffodils were in bloom. On the weekend they took me to the Dune du Pyla, further south, and to their summer cottage in Arcachon, where the daffodils were in riotous profusion!

I started a daffodil search across Europe- they were blooming in Paris, where I spent a lonely week in a Quartier Latin hotel, in Brussels, where I visited another pen pal, and as I arrived in Canterbury, England, for Holy Week and Easter, there they were, just starting to bloom. For the next 6 weeks or so I made my way around Great Britain, to London, Salisbury Plain, Wales, the Lake District, and Scotland. I started searching for what was becoming my favorite flower. The weather held up amazingly well, and I met folks at youth hostels and inns, saw things I had only imagined, and grew in independence and spirit. wo

A big highlight was Wordsworth's house in Grasmere in the Lake District. I had met up with a lovely South African woman (Ailsa Dewar, where are you now?) and we hired a local man to take us on a long trek across the region, stopping at Dove Cottage where, indeed, we found a host of golden daffodils.

One problem with the whole adventure- I was terribly lonely and homesick. I was only 18, missed my mom, my friends, and learned how important it is for me to have friends and community. I could have afforded to stay for several weeks more, but in mid-May I arranged for a flight home (remember when we could have open-ended return tickets? I didn't even fly home on the same airline!). I decided to surprise my mother, so when I landed in Boston, I hopped on the Concord Trailways bus, and once in Concord, I took a taxi home. There was my mother, working in the garden, on a sunny May afternoon- and the daffodils were in bloom.

There is a lovely song by Sydney Carter, called Julian of Norwich. In it are the following lines:
Love, like the yellow daffodil, the flower in the snow
Love, like the yellow daffodil is Lord of all I know
Ring out, bells of Norwich and let the winter come and go
All shall be well again, I know

The daffodils are just now blooming at Tam Lin. They remind my of my big late-teen adventure. And they remind me that despite the hardship of a New Hampshire winter, despite all the violence, anger, fear, oppression, injustice and cruelty in the world, that somehow all shall indeed be well again, in some way we can't really fathom. All shall be well again, I know.

Standing tall

2011-03-29T10:55:00.000-07:00

Winter's grip is still upon us, but somehow, even as blustery and cold as March is, there's promise in the air. So I am taking daily walks again, and the walks are getting longer! As the walks get longer and my body gets stronger, I feel more optimistic and less like hibernating, and the cycle continues.

One thing that I notice over and over again is how my body reacted to late winter- I curled up, turned inward, and I adopted what my mother often called "wet noodle" posture. The more I have noticed it, the more I have tried to correct it. And another positive cycle is born!

For the past three summers I was able to attend Pinewoods Camp English Dance Week, which was amazing and lovely for so many reasons. One of the best things I gained from it was acquaintance with a yoga teacher from Silver Spring named Anna Rain. She teaches Iyengar yoga, which focuses on the structural alignment of the physical body. Anna has a vitality and joyful personality which encouraged and inspired me. She taught how to "take yoga off the mat" through body positions, or "asanas", and alignment suitable for dancers. I quickly found these asanas to be equally effective in the rest of life, from walking down the piney path of camp, or from my house to the mailbox, to standing at the sink, to singing and leading my chorus.

On my walks I now have a short "jody", or echo-chant, that I often give myself:
Head up! (head up!)
Shoulders back!
Stand tall!
Stand taller!
Heart open!

I stand taller, my shoulders back, allowing my heart to open to all I meet, rather than curling my shoulders forward to protect my heart and my soft underbelly. In doing so I find myself filled with feelings of strength and love, towards myself and others, and thus, joy and peace.

Sweet Home

2011-02-22T11:06:00.001-08:00

I've been hibernating. That's the best excuse I can think of to explain nearly 3 months of blog-dormancy.
Actually, I've been performing all December, traveling nearly all of January, and easing back into so-called-"real life" in February. But indeed, the days are getting longer, and after about 6 weeks of regular one-two punches from Old Man Winter, there's been little snow and several days of thaw. It's still plenty cold, but even the bird song anticipates the thought that "if winter comes, can spring be far behind?"

Truly, for all the activity, I feel pretty much like hibernating during the long dark months of winter. Our trip South in January was a brief interlude that gave color to our eyes and a few days (out of the 25 of traveling) where short sleeves were comfortable. Other than that it was mostly chilly! But still, a wonderful adventure playing our music, visiting our friends, and experiencing, as Hunt says, "different dirt".

We drove in our Ford van, equipped with a plywood platform bed, all our instruments, our sound system which we never used not once, clothes, food, and Nellie the World's Greatest Traveling Dog. It was a bonding experience with Nellie, and we drove around in our little home-away-from-home.
But-
We couldn't wait to be back home! We have both learned, over and over again, that we are finally in the Place Just Right and it truly is the Valley of Love and Delight! Even though it was snowy

and continued to snow, even though it was cold and dark and we have had to haul wood every day, we are so happy in this home we have made in this house we have built.

Nellie was so happy to be home she nearly burst into flame.

And now the days are getting longer, bird song is in the air, and winter's back is broken. Who could ask for anything more?

To everything there is a season

2010-11-27T05:19:00.000-08:00

...and a time for every purpose under heaven.
Thanksgiving Day has passed, a day which was full of gratitude for life's abundant blessings... and turkey with all the trimmings. My two grown kids and my dear husband and I (and the puppy*!) rode over the highway and through the woods to the grandmothers' house, and everyone was loving and cordial and friendly and fun, and we were home in time to relax before bedtime (and let the puppy run around*).

On the way home in the dark, we saw 3 houses with Christmas lights a-glow, and one lit tree standing in a window. 'Tis the season? The stores and the national economy want us to think so. But I find that once again I am approaching the month of December with my usual stubborn insistence on letting the beauty of the dark-into-light time unfold. The days are definitely getting darker and darker; we have candles at the dinner table most nights, and we're all looking at our watches after supper and wondering what is the earliest we can get into our beds! I'm not ready for Christmas muzak, decorations, lights and greenery to infiltrate my quiet, brooding Advent.

On this first Sunday in Advent, I have gotten out the Advent candle holder, but have not yet gathered the moss or installed the candles (photo to follow when mission accomplished). As my spirituality has evolved, my love for Advent has only increased, as it so beautifully expresses the hopeful anticipation of light following the darkest time. As we light the candles one by one, they remind me by their strengthening light that no matter how dark it gets, light will return. This is also reflected in a very November-y song by Gordon Bok that I often think of at this time of year:
Oh, my Joanie, don't you know that the stars are swinging slow,
And the seas are rolling easy as they did so long ago.
If I had a thing to give you, I would tell you one more time
That the world is always turning toward the morning.

So, let the candles slowly increase, and let the greens gradually appear. The carols on the player will ease in as well, and the tree won't arrive until the Solstice. There will be concerts, and parties, and places where "Christmas out there" will be unavoidable, and I'll participate whole-heartedly with gratitude for the joy in the faces around me. But at home, let it be Advent for the next 4 weeks!

*although this is not a blog post about the puppy, I promised to write about the puppy this time, so here you are!

Higher Learning

2010-11-18T06:10:00.000-08:00

Yesterday Hunt and I spent a day in academia. We were invited to give a guest lecture for the Boston University ethnomusicology department, backed up by scholarship and references. What an enticing challenge! To do what we usually do, but with scholarship to back it up! So in preparation we poured over websites, looked through our own library (and discovered it was far more comprehensive than we had realized!), visited the NH Library of Traditional Music and Dance, emailed notables in the field, (Dudley and Jacqueline Laufman. Photo courtesy of Dudley Laufman)
took notes, made pdf files and posters, and off we went!

(a page from a Vermont dance prompter's book c. 1847, courtesy NH Library of Traditional Music and Dance)

...did I mention that I am an alumna of Boston University? It was eerie, walking into a classroom where I was tortured by 20th century music theory, to deliver "Dance Music, Sedition and Maple Syrup: the Musical Roots of Old New England". I was confronted by ghosts of my past- I swear I met my 20-year-old self in the hallway- yet it was all different, too. I mean, there was never even an Ethnomusicology department at BU 30 years ago! But here we were, and we gave all we could to a group of brilliant, musical, scholarly grad students who welcomed us with courtesy and warmth. I still felt challenged to live up to the impossibly high standards I always felt were just beyond my reach in my undergrad days, so I vibrated like a piano string all the way through the presentation.

We decided to drive home after dinner following the presentation, instead of staying the night in Boston. This gave us time to de-compress and evaluate the experience. We are still processing it, but one thing is certain: we are expanding our horizons, professionally and personally, and we're grateful for every opportunity to learn and grow and make connections.

Next time, I will write about the puppy. Really I will!

Nellie the Dog

Love, relief, and more gratitude

2010-10-22T05:24:00.000-07:00

I have been meaning to write on the beauty and mystery of sailing in downeast Maine, the innocence, cute-factor, and overwhelming annoyance of puppies, the bittersweet loveliness of autumn, and more, but today I'm going to write about helmets. Bicycle helmets, to be specific. Beautiful, wonderful, gratitude-inspiring helmets. Especially the one my daughter was wearing yesterday (I wish I had a picture of her wearing it, but these will have to do!).

She doesn't remember what happened, but the first thing I knew I was getting a call from the hospital emergency room nurse in Northampton, Mass. We hopped in the car and drove down straightaway, to find a very bruised and shaken young lady, and a cracked and bloody bike helmet on the floor nearby. After many hours it was determined that she had a few fractured ribs, a broken toe, many bruises, lots of road rash, and a big bump in the middle of her forehead (on her Third Eye?). She was released, and we brought her home to Nelson, where she is getting all the tlc she could want.

I believe she is alive and well because she had the sense to wear the helmet. I'm grateful for her sense of responsibility. I am grateful to the Specialized company for making decent helmets. I'm grateful for the good care she got at the Cooley Dickinson Hospital. I am grateful to my husband Hunt for his stalwart presence through it all. I am grateful for the reminder of the preciousness of life, and how important it is to protect my outer self as well as my inner self, when forging bravely through the world. Too much padding would hinder my ability to fly, but just enough will give me the armor I need to face the challenges and dangers that lie in everyday life.

Compassion

2010-09-10T19:06:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I am able to stay mindful, grateful, aware of the abundance of this life. At other times, maybe on a chilly, dark day when it seems that summer ended so quickly and even a wool sweater and a cat on the lap aren't enough to keep back the gloomy thoughts- well, during those times I need reminders, pointers along the way. Otherwise it's easy to slip into ego-centered-ness, irritability, and criticism.

If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion. Dalai Lama

I was driving along the road the other day, going the speed limit on a two-lane highway which was about to narrow to a slower route through a local gorge, when I was passed not by one, not by two, but by three large SUVs with out-of-state license plates (clearly loaded with furniture, boxes, bedding), at great speed. My first impulse was to shout, swear, and perhaps gesture towards them. But I caught my thoughts just barely in time and thought, "Oh, well, they're probably headed to college- hope they get there all right"

The whole idea of compassion is based on a keen awareness of the interdependence of all these living beings, which are all part of one another, and all involved in one another.” Thomas Merton

Someone I like and have often admired has recently been acting upset, affronted, disapproving- all behind my back. I've tried to communicate, praise, offer love- but it's been rejected completely. I found myself getting so worked up, I would avoid reading emails, dread meeting this person, and spent too much time in the middle of the watches of the night fretting about the situation. So this is my test: can I practice compassion when it hits home, in a way that directly affects me much more than the three speeding SUVs?

Compassionate action involves working with ourselves
as much as working with others. Pema Chodron

Yes, this is the test, and also the way to live truly- learn compassion for others, and in so doing learn compassion for myself. This creates a cycle of love and compassion that can only help me, those I encounter, and in some small way, the world I inhabit.

lazy, hazy, not-so-crazy...

2010-07-24T11:10:00.001-07:00

Sorry for the long blank-out. Somehow, even after 2 years of not-teaching, summer means total veg-out, relax, unwind, get in touch with my inner lazy good-for-nothing self. The garden is growing, amazingly well, almost by itself, and about once a week I manage to yank just enough weeds to keep the things that are supposed to be growing happy. We've had lots of lettuce, about 6 sugar snap peas, one string bean (so far!), and we watch in awe as the tomato plants produce stunning globes of green (it's still early for them to turn red) and the squash plant secretly plots to take over the world- it has sent long, flower-laden vines across the watermelon plant, the annual bed (bye bye, nasturiums!), on to the lawn, across the barren waste that I hope to use for planting garlic this fall, and down the rows of black plastic that I cleverly laid between the raised beds to keep them weed free. I hadn't thought of trying to keep them squash free!

We've had visitors, from Oneonta, NY, and my dear god-daughter Hannah from Littleton, MA. We've had just enough hot days to feel like summer, and just enough rain to keep the wells and gardens happy. Animaterra had a wonderful workshop and concert with the French chorus Cantoria and the Vermont chorus House Blend. Hunt and Dan, our wonderful helper, have started work on what will soon be a screen porch with woodshed attached- right now it's a skeleton of wood, and the kitchen and living room have returned to construction site status. But do I care? No! It's summer! I'm relaxed and mellow.

I've been reading brain-candy mysteries (why did I never know until now about the Cat Who books???). But my bed-time reading is once again The Power of Now. At this stage of my life, where I feel I have emerged into a spirituality of my own, allowing my observations thoughts and insights of the All to guide me, it feels strange to say this, but this is one of the books that changed my life. It's only now, on the third reading in about 6 years, that I am realizing how much of this book is with me all the time.
"Nothing ever happened in the past; it happened in the Now. Nothing will ever happen in the future; it will happen in the Now"
"Unease, anxiety, tension, stress, worry — all forms of fear — are cause by too much future, and not enough presence. Guilt, regret, resentment, grievances, sadness, bitterness, and all forms of nonforgiveness are caused by too much past, and not enough presence"
"To be free of time is to be free of the psychological need of past for your identity and future for your fulfillment"
"You cannot find yourself by going into the past. You can find yourself by coming into the present"
and on, and on.
So simple, and yet in an extraordinary way these words "speak to my condition", as the Quakers say. So I guess in a way that's what my summer's been about so far. Being here in each Now that arrives. Yes, I still look ahead to the fall season of Animaterra, and I nearly have all the music ready. Yes, I'm looking forward to our annual week at Pinewoods coming up at the end of the month. But right now, sitting on the couch, with the muggy air being gently blown by the fan, I am savoring this moment with gratitude.

Spiritual acts

2010-06-04T11:16:00.000-07:00

Q: What is a sacrament?
A: A sacrament is an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.

I did have to learn the catechism before my confirmation in 1970 at St. Paul's Episcopal Church in Brockton, Mass. Besides the Q/A above, the only other thing I remember is making the rector uncomfortable because another part of the catechism told us to fear God- and I wanted to know why a loving Father God would want us to fear Him? Somehow, although the rector did his best, I wasn't really satisfied with the answer, whatever it was.

I loved the church as a child, into my teens, and as a young adult. I was raised in the Episcopal church, dabbled in college in evangelical Christianity, directed a Methodist choir, thought for awhile I was called to Episcopal holy orders. Was and am a member of the Episcopal Society of the Companions of the Holy Cross. Have spent time with the Unitarians, Quakers, and the United Congregational Church. I loved and still have affection for the ritual, tradition, and especially the music.
But.
My earliest "spiritual memory" is as a child, probably 7 or 8, sitting on a rock by a mountain stream at a rest stop in the Rockies. The sun was shining, the air was crisp and clear, and I knew without a doubt that there was more than met the eye and other senses. Good church girl that I was, I called it "God" and have loved that presence ever since.
But.
The years in church gave me a beautiful container to put that wonder and glory into. That container felt like enough for many years. But more and more, as I have met so many people and have had so many adventures in this life, the box has seemed far too small and shabby to fit the vastness and infinitesimal tininess of It All. All those years, decades, with "God" as my Father and Creator, kept Him separate from me. He was Out There, great and almighty, and I was Down Here, grovelling and small. And even the word "god" put limits on It All.
But now...
I really don't know anything. Of that I'm absolutely certain, and my faith in my unknowing is unshakable. But what I suspect is that there is no "Out There"- It's all Right Here, and we're all a part of It. "God in Me" really means In Me, and in everyone. And in the cat on the couch, the trees in the woods, the rocks and hills and molecules and electrons, protons and muons and quarks- everything.
"God is Love" means that Love is God and we are love and...
Oh, boy, here I go putting finite words on the infinite. Can't be done. It just Is, ok?
Do I pray? Sure I do.
So, what is a sacrament? Everything is a sacrament. Everything is an outward and visible sign. Everything is an inward and spiritual grace.
Is everything good? Hell, no! Oil in the Gulf, cancer, child abuse, sure, there are horrible nasty things going on. But the power and the glory of creation- all of us- is a force that works in a cycle of Life/Death/rebirth, and the good will of those who love, who believe in the goodness of creation, who try to do the best they can for the greater good, that is God, and that is Love, and that is good.

Gratitude

2010-05-16T05:52:00.001-07:00

I'm grateful when I wake up in the morning to the cat at my feet, my husband at my side, and birds singing out doors. I'm grateful for the green wall of leaves that surrounds our house this first Spring at Tam Lin, with the sunlight shining through.
I'm grateful for my warm feet on the cold floor, for steel-cut oats and tea for breakfast. I'm grateful for the warm sudsy dish water on my hands, and the hum of the washing machine in the basement. I'm grateful for the baby garden that I'm about to water, and for the second cup of tea I'm about to enjoy.

I'm grateful for the amazing gift of this true friend, this soul mate, this husband of mine who is my companion, my help meet, my best friend, who makes me think, laugh, listen, grow, and smile every minute of every day.

I'm grateful for this community, the friends that have been here all along and the new friendships forming. I'm grateful for the health and strength of my mother and her partner, who are glad to accept a spontaneous invitation and show up for tea (and then supper) an hour later.
I'm grateful for long-planned dances at the Town Hall, and spontaneous house dances planned in a matter of days.

I'm grateful for my own health, and that of my husband, for his hearing aids, my limbs that remind me to keep stretching them daily. I'm grateful for my grown-up children, for their maturity, kindness, and affection.

I'm grateful for this house, that I've longed for for 50 years and now have. I'm grateful for food on the table, most of the bills paid most of the time, and the gift of time. I'm grateful for the jobs that brought me here, the gift of self-discipline and a sense of duty that keeps me from sinking into a total couch-potato.

I'm grateful beyond measure for the music in my life- singing, instruments, dance, recordings, memories. I'm grateful for Robert J. Lurtsema, Sandy and Caroline Paton, John and Carol Langstaff, my parents, and so many others who showed me what music can be. I'm grateful for Animaterra, the folks in Nelson, my dear husband Hunt, and so many others who show me what music can be.

There's oil in the Gulf of Mexico, there's famine in Africa, there's war everywhere, my muscles ache, our bank account is diminished, I don't have health insurance, we have friends and neighbors dying at an alarming rate- but I focus on the joy and abundance of every day. I don't ignore the hard facts, but I try to have perspective and offer amazed and abounding gratitude for each and every gift, including the AFGEs (Another Freaking Growth Experience) that come each day.

I tried all through their growing years to teach my children about having "an attitude of gratitude". It's only truly sinking into my being now.

Joyful noise

2010-05-08T07:00:00.000-07:00

“Music is a moral law. It gives soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, and charm and gaiety to life and to everything.” Plato

As I rest here on the couch, on the Saturday afternoon between the Friday night Animaterra concert in Peterborough and tonight's concert in Keene, my head and my heart are filled with the music of these wonderful women. Music is always on my mind- my daily soundtrack can shift from the songs of the season, to contra dance tunes I'm working on with, to whatever was playing at the grocery store as I checked out. But the best times are when I'm immersed in the creation of the music, and that's what pours through me, lulls me to sleep (or keeps me awake!).

As a child, growing up in the Episcopal church, some of my earliest memories are of the thrill of the music- listening to my mother's alto harmonizing with the hymn melody, delighting in the power of a well-played pipe organ, impatiently waiting to be old enough to sing in the junior choir. I remained in the church for years because of the music, and most of my "spiritual moments" inside churches have been with my voice raised in song. Later, when looking for a house of worship, I would often think, "the people are nice enough, but I can't attend this place- the music is awful!". It took years before I realized that music and my spiritual life are so intertwined that I can do without church, but I can't do without music and a community of people to share it with.

Animaterra Women's Chorus is such a community. I am blessed with the opportunity to spend one night a week, at least two weekends a year, and countless hours of preparation, creating season after season of song for and with these phenomenal women. Last night and tonight we are performing our spring concerts, and looking forward to a few future dates before the fall. The joy I feel working and singing with these women is indescribable- truly a spiritual experience

Hunt and I also make music together. I hadn't considered myself much of an instrumentalist before he came into my life, but the challenge of mastering contra dance piano and accordion, and speeding up my fingers on the concertina, has been exhilarating. Making music with one's soul mate is also an experience of incredible depth and richness- again, spiritually fulfilling.

As a younger adult I felt largely fragmented: my spiritual life over here, my family life over here, my job here and my artistic expression over there somewhere. What an amazing blessing it has been to gather the fragments and feel the integration of body, mind, and spirit into a creative whole. How fortunate I am to be able to live my perfect life, seeing the spiritual in every day life.

Animal, vegetable, mineral instinct

2010-04-26T05:50:00.001-07:00

Sorry about the delay- we got busy preparing for the New England Folk Festival and related visits, but now I'm back. Last Wednesday we drove to Boston, staying in Brookline with good friends Michael and Lizbeth, and dining Weds. with our friend the wonderful violin dealer Reggie Williams. Thursday was spent visiting my old alma mater, Boston University's College of Fine Arts, and bending the knee at the Haynes Flute Company. Friday we headed further south, our ultimate destination Mansfield, Mass. and the New England Folk Festival.

Before diving into the musical weekend, we took a brief detour to the Attleboro/Seekonk line to visit one of my former sacred places, Seven Arrows Herb Farm. This was not a carefully considered and planned trip; I just knew it was a necessary stop, and so we made the trip with no plans or expectations other than simply to see it. But the moment I stepped from the car in the shaded parking lot I knew I had been following an inner compulsion that was part of a larger experience I'd been having ever since leaving Tam Lin on Wednesday. Again and again my instinct had been taking me over familiar territory of my past, where I could view old scenes with new eyes. Seven Arrows was an oasis of sorts, as it had been 15 and more years ago when I lived and taught in Mansfield. Here was where I first recognized and named my deep, life-long connection to the natural world, here was where I connected with wise, kind and yes, fun teachers and friends who looked at gardening as a spiritual practice, here was where I was invited to lead a monthly song circle and thus discovered my ability to draw out the singing voices of others.

After pausing to look around, breathe and smile, I tentatively stepped inside the shop. At first I recognized no one, but a kind member of the staff, Linda, offered to look for Mich and Judy, the proprietors. The next thing I heard and saw was Judy's delighted face and voice and enveloping arms: "Allison!!" The next half hour was a joyful reunion, catching each other up on 15 years and watching Hunt and Judy get acquainted. We then walked around, soaked up the wonderful vibrations of the place, chatted with Mich, bought their book, and headed to Mansfield and another trip down memory lane (for another musing).

This visit had enormous impact, not only for the sense that I was gathering in fragments that had been dangling for nearly 15 years, bringing them full circle to experience a new wholeness, but also for the awareness that once again, instinct had led me to this place in such a matter-of-fact way that it felt fluid, complete. Again and again in my life I have felt a "knowing", or a "leading", telling me "this is the way, walk in it" (Isaiah 30:21). Following this instinct feels like the most natural thing in the world. It comes in the little and big decisions, and I never feel any fear or anxiety when I act according to it, knowing in my deepest heart that it is the way I should go.

I think we all have access to this inner wisdom- it just requires paying attention and sometimes taking a leap of faith. I've met many people, often women and young girls (usually it starts around the age of 9 or so and never leaves them) who have no sense of trusting their inner voice. They are so anxious to please, to serve, to meet some kind of standard imposed on them, that they have shut off that inner hearing. I suppose men have this, too, but I haven't known as many men with this lack of trust in themselves. I certainly had it, but even in my youth I remember the times when I KNEW what choices to make, where to go, what to do. When I lost my scholarship to the college I thought I wanted to attend, and knew I needed to travel around France and the UK instead. When it was time to leave my teaching job in Mansfield and look for right livelihood elsewhere (which turned out to be Keene, one of the best moves I ever made). When I offered to jump on an airplane to Atlanta, to meet a "total stranger" (the quotes are because in the short time we'd been talking on the phone I knew Hunt more deeply than anyone I'd ever met). These are just some examples of the way instinct has guided me.

I know, I know. There are those who will read this and give instinct another name, with Divine qualities. Of course, you are absolutely right, but so am I! Bear with me; blog post by blog post I'll get there (assuming there is a "there" there...). But for now, thanks be to instinct, and grant that I may have the wisdom, patience, awareness, mindfulness and courage to continue to follow it!

And now, I'm going to sit on the land and let it guide me towards this season's first plantings in the garden!

Desire and fear

2010-04-11T14:06:00.000-07:00

Hunt and I just watched the movie "Chocolat" last night (for me it was about the 10th viewing, but still). This is a film that addresses the rigidity of those with a fixed belief system versus the joyful, sensuous delight of taking pleasure in taste, texture, and the unfamiliar and exotic. Briefly, Vianne and her young daughter Anouk arrive in a small French town during Lent, and set up a chocolaterie. Those who see themselves as holy and righteous meet this strong, beautiful woman head-on, and lessons are learned.

I've come to feel that we all are yearning for certainty in life- so much of it is such a big mystery, so often we are confused with contradictory explanations of the simple and complex aspects of life, big and small. Many of us are brought up in traditions that claim to have the answers all wrapped up, or at least, an explanation of the mystery of it all. And yet, even within those traditions there are contradictions. Sometimes we are told we must have faith, and not question the contradictions. Sometimes we are given long, complicated explanations attempting to reconcile these contradictions within the tradition. The mystery and wonder remains, and yet there is a desire for some spiritual certainty. (On a tangent, here is one of my favorite jibes at the attempt within one tradition to make it all clear: Dear Dr. Laura). We fear that which is outside the explainable, because there is the Unknown (there be dragons!).

Whether or not we adhere to a religious or scientific or other tradition, there is yet the Unknown- that which does not necessarily fit into our explanation, our rationalism, our spiritual path. Take chocolate, for instance. What is it about the sensation as it melts on the tongue? There's a beautiful scene in "Chocolat" where many of the principle actors, one by one, go to confession and pour out their guilt at the amazing explosion of the senses they have received by partaking of chocolate. Their trembling bodies, widening eyes, emotional voices, show their incredulity that such sensuous pleasure could exist- it couldn't possibly be allowed!

There is a line in the movie when Vianne's father is in Central America tasting a liqueur of cacao for the first time, that describes the taste as opening the senses and revealing the secret longings of the soul. What happens then? Self-knowledge, inner exploration, and possibly new revelation and a change of life. I'm not suggesting that chocolate always has that effect on people, but I am suggesting that freeing one's self to allow in joy, pleasure and delight can and will. Besides, chocolate is good for you! Really!

By the way, I am hoping this blog will invite comments and dialogue. I know I don't have the last word on these topics. What do you think about desire, fear, chocolate and other mysteries? Let's have a cup of hot chocolate and talk it over!

Nostalgia

2010-04-06T10:58:00.000-07:00

"That Easter Day with joy was bright", and it certainly was! Sunny and warm, the last of the snow melting away, ice-out on the pond, and my two favorite men (husband Hunt and son Dylan), sharing a mid-afternoon lunch of hot dogs on the grill, iced-tea-lemonade (aka Arnold Palmers), and apple cake. Not a traditional Easter dinner! Not a ham or hard-boiled egg in sight. No hymns, no lilies. But a beautiful day, with a walk around the woodsy land, and the delight of discovering the first blooming flowers planted in the fall- a crocus over the septic tank!

It's only been recently that I haven't felt the need to re-enact the Easters of my childhood by dressing up (always new clothes!), going to church, singing the hymns, dying the eggs. I would have strong ideas about how to achieve the special feeling of the day, and would need to go through the motions, even as my personal outlook changed and moved away from a sin-and-salvation-based view.

I would go through these motions and yet, something was never quite right. It felt like play-acting, but the real thing was missing. I began to understand that the source of those feelings, those yearnings for sights, sounds and smells long-passed, was nostalgia.
And here I go to Google (get used to it, I'm an inveterate looker-upper) for a definition of nostalgia.
The Merriam-Webster definition is interesting:
"1: the state of being homesick
a wistful or excessively sentimental yearning for return to or of some past period or irrecoverable condition."
Then there's good old Wikipedia:
"The term nosalgia describes a yearning for the past, often in idealized form."

What was I yearning for, with my dyed eggs and Easter dress? My re-enacting was played out in so many other ways throughout my young-into-middle-adulthood. I often confused nostalgia with a true inner aspiration. I clung to rituals, habits, even jobs and people, yearning for something yet seldom completely satisfied at the result. Why not? What was I wishing for?
he most obvious answer is that I sought a return to the security of my past- I have vivid memories of Easter as a child, my pleasure in a new pretty dress, my delight at the Easter basket and its contents, and the full-sensory pleasure of the Episcopal Easter service at church- the mingled smell of lilies and incense, the triumphant sounds of the organ and joyful hymns, and the tingly feeling of this special day. The annual predictability of Easter and other holidays gave security in a childhood that was unsettled by frequent moves, lack of self-confidence, and a vague uncertainty as to my place at school and in the world.

But security can't be re-created, it must be built brick by brick, and comes from within. Creating the perfect holiday dinner won't bring back the sense of safety and love I felt as a child, nor will the clothes, the lilies or the candy. My sense of security must be built upon my knowledge of my own competence and worth as a human, and the safety I feel with those I choose to be with.
At this point in my very bumpy journey of life, I feel completely secure now in my skin, as the person I am becoming, in my house with my husband, and secure in the relationships I have with my children, friends and family. This is more valuable than any re-enacted ritual, and more lasting (later I'll muse on the value of ritual; I'm not throwing the baby out with the bath water!).

But there's more to nostalgia, that idealized yearning. The remembrance and longing for things past can also point to a deeper desire. Not only do we need to feel secure, we need to feel connected to those we love and beyond them, to the Whole. Whether we use the term God, Goddess, Universe, or no term at all, we humans have a longing for connection to It, and thus to each other. Throughout the year and throughout our lives we develop habits that become rituals, most if not all of them pointing to our desire to be part of something bigger than ourselves. Feelings such as nostalgia are signs of that desire. For some partaking in familiar rituals- church, patriotic events, school ceremonies, arts or even sporting events, helps us feel connected to a greater whole. For me, increasingly, it's participation in every moment of every day life- living as fully in the present as I can, being mindful of the beauty of a crocus, the touch of the piano keys, the pleasure of the company of my family.

Why Tam Lin?

2010-04-04T05:52:00.001-07:00

At the start of our long driveway sits a small wooden sign. It simply states "Tam Lin"- not our names, just Tam Lin. We have had to start alerting newcomers about the sign, because folks have been known to drive right past (despite our assurance that it's the "first driveway on the left"- they assume that it's the home of Tam and Lin, not Hunt and Allison!
So why confuse the issue with the sign? Well, it's a long story. Tam Lin is a ballad, and it is a long story- about 42 verses, a story of true love and fidelity. There are many different versions, analyzed in great detail in various places on the web.
Basically, to make a long story short, Lady Janet (or Margaret, in some versions) meets young Tam Lin at Carterhaugh (her father's land, which he has given to her). After becoming, er, intimately acquainted, Tam Lin tells Janet that he is captive of the Queen of the Fairies, doomed to be killed this very night, unless one who loves him truly rescues him. Lady Janet questions him as to how this might be accomplished, and succeeds that very night by grabbing on to him and holding on and not letting go, despite his being transformed into all manner of beasts, until finally he was turned into a fiery coal, which she tossed into the holy well, resulting in his freedom from imprisonment. She wraps him in her cloak and carries him home on her horse, and true love prevails.
Hunt and I met in the fall of 2007, on an on-line site called Green Singles. We quickly guessed that this was The One, and learned from one another that we each had had a very bumpy road of love and singlehood. We assured each other that we were now holding out for The One, and I somehow was moved to tell him the story of Tam Lin. I assured him that when I found The One, I would hold on and not let go, like Lady Margaret. He was deeply moved by the story, and suggested that if we ever were to buy land, we would name it Tam Lin.
On our blog, Building our First Day Cottage, the story is told of buying the land and building our dream house. At Shutterfly you can see the evidence of our courtship- our wedding on Sept. 20, 2008 was a joyful day. We are now happily living our life of rural felicity in the house we have both dreamed of- there's still plenty of work to be done, and now that the snow has melted, the work goes on outside as well as inside.

Inner work, too. This blog is likely to be a spot for my musings on life, the universe, and the various thoughts I've been developing on my own personal Unified Field Theory of God, Space, Time, Music and Chocolate. It's a fine place to hang out for those of you who wait impatiently for updates on the house-building- that blog will gradually fizzle out, and this will become my holding tank for the thoughts I now have time to think. Hang out with me here, let me know what you think, and we'll pass some time along.

From the earliest version of Tam Lin:
Sae weel she minded what he did say,
And young Tam Lin did win,
Syne covered him wi her green mantle,
As blythe's a bird in spring