If a mama bear gets angry, imagine the Mother of the Mountains…

The Mother of the Mountains

If a mama bear gets angry, imagine the Mother of the Mountains.
Mess with Her children, She’ll dust off an avalanche;
step out of line, She’ll realign your bones.
She’s a blue-eyed beauty,
and the mountains have their Mother’s eyes: deep lakes.
Gaze into them, you’ll see their thoughts like fish –
quick schools, slow rainbows – look deeper,
and you’ll learn to dream like a stone.
What does She feed them? Rain for breakfast.
Anything else? She peels them the sun for lunch.
And at night? Big helpings of quiet,
then the Mother of the Mountains sings them to sleep with snow.
The trees are Her grandkids; She brings them birds to play with.
Whenever it’s their birthday, She gives them an owl
’cause though She’s a blue-eyed beauty, She’s still kind.
Even soft  . . . even fragile . . .
Wolves howl to Her to show their gratitude. What about you?

Rob Carney

I love this way of looking at the mountain, a true deep personification, the mountain as mother, as provider and as oh so loving.

*  *  *

If a mama bear gets angry, imagine the Mother of the Stars.
Mess with Her children, she’ll scatter white hot embers
and comets that burn
slowly
making Icarus seem like the lucky one.

Step out of line, She’ll set Draco on your trail.

She’s a wild eyed goddess
and the stars have their Mothers smile: radiating luminosity, intensity
burning bright.
Daring you to look and
punishing if you try.

What does she feed them? Diamonds and moon dust,
meteorites and wonderment.
She picks planets as though they were grapes,
offering them out as treats.

And at night? She drapes the sky with lush black velvet
then the Mother of the Stars steps back into the wings and lets her lovelies shine.

The milky way hides her grandkids as they grow;
She brings them tales from the cosmos, millennia old,
to fuel their fires and light the sparkles in their eyes.
Whenever it’s their birthday, she gives them pencils of sunlight
to practice joining dots into constellations.

Down on earth, eyes heavenwards, owls gaze in awe and gratitude.
What about you?

Advertisements

Nature and writing project: An update

So I’ve had a busy few months and whilst I’m pleased I’ve still been blogging, my nature and writing project has been paused.  A combination of going to Stanmore for three weeks, resting and recovering, and also getting used to having a lot more care.  With this in mind, I put my nature and writing project on hold – it had a summer holiday!

This means I will start getting back into it now that the summer holidays are over and the school year has begun again!  Expect more tarot and animal spirit posts as well as I’m planning – long term – to work through all my animal allies cards, my animal totem tarot cards with a focus on the animals.  I’m also planning – very long term – to work through all the tarot cards, having been inspired when I started with the ten of swords.

There are so many directions to take the nature and writing in and I think this is partly why I’ve not done much recently.  I was really clear about the different topics for the different months and now I’ve covered a lot of these, or at least touched the surface of them, and I don’t know whether I want to return to a topic or go with a new one!  So many choices and so little restrictions!  I think that’s why I’ve been doing the tarot and animal allies posts because then I’m not having to decide what to focus in on!

Animal Allies wise, I have the following to look into:

  • Bighorn sheep
  • Boar
  • Canary
  • Coyote
  • Mountain Lion
  • Opossum
  • Rat
  • Skunk
  • Squirrel
  • Turkey

As well as looking forward, I wanted to look back. I’ve been retired for over two years now and whilst I retired in May 2016, it was the September when things finally started to fall into place so I could have a life.  I decided that September 16-17 would be a bit of a ‘gap year’ for me.  I was overwhelmed at retiring, at having lots of things I wanted to do with my life and unsure what and how much I could actually do if I wasn’t destroying myself working.  It felt like there were so many directions I could go in and yet I didn’t want to commit to just one.  In the end, the gap year involved a good mix of things; art, Saturday classes at the university, writing and reading.  It was January 2017 when I started on my animal spirit posts and it was from there than I formed my nature and writing project.

I had a feeling before but now I know for certain that I am a lot happier when I have projects like these which are long term but with smaller short term chunks (the entire deck of oracle cards but also each individual post).

I have also finally found the kind of writing that comes naturally to me at this stage in my life.  As a child I wrote a lot of stories and created magazines and newspapers for fun.  As a teenager I wrote an awful lot of (probably quite awful) poetry.  I was a prolific poet and it just streamed out of me without much thought or effort.  As an adult I have tried to recreate the stories and the poetry but its felt forced and definitely didn’t flow as it once did.  This year whilst I was reading and writing and learning, I came across the term creative non fiction and it felt like a validation that my posts about animals, about nature, are creative and they do count as creative writing.  Because they are non fiction I had essentially dismissed the creativity in them.  And because they weren’t in a voiceless, facts only style I had dismissed them as non fiction. It wasn’t until I found the term creative non fiction that I was able to figure out what my writing is and from there I can learn more about the style and how to improve and explore different techniques.

There have of course been lots of other realisations and discoveries in the past year of my nature and writing project but the thing I am most proud of is that despite having 6 months of being incredibly ill, I didn’t give up.  I had to change goal posts and I had to instil patience in myself because I wasn’t physically able to do what I wanted.  I also had to spend my energy fighting for help when I wanted to be doing my nature and writing project instead.  But despite this, since I started it last September, I have written over 165,000 words and 186 blog posts.  I have carefully researched the topics I talk about and have done some really interesting reading and watching of documentaries to fuel what I am writing about.  For a year which involved six months of starvation (literally… I couldn’t swallow much food…), I’m pretty proud of myself.

I couldn’t possibly chose a favourite topic or post but the one I find myself telling people about more than any others is the post I did in October about the very real and very serious cases of animals in court on trial.  If you read nothing else I’ve written (except obviously some of this post to reach the link…), read that.

Illustration from Chambers Book of Days depicting a sow and her piglets being tried for the murder of a child. The trial allegedly took place in 1457, the mother being found guilty and the piglets acquitted.

Campanula

          When I grow up, I want    |     When I grow up, I want
to be a campanula, growing     |     to be a campanula, self
tight to rocks     |   sufficient, hard, persistent
to stones     |   resistant
to walls.    | resistance.

         Spreading and reaching     |   Reaching and spreading
into the crevices of the     |  roots creeping though
humanmade world.      |  cracks in domesticity.

Patiently establishing myself;    |    Weakening structures
dainty, delicate lilac petals     |   forcing a new perception,
– miniature stars.   |  a new perspective.

When I grow up, I want
to be a campanula, a paradox.
Lover and fighter.
Darkness and light.
A fairy-flower-wall-tumbler.

And no one to expect any less from me.


I struggled with wordpress formatting this.. I tried all sorts but it wasn’t playing friendly with me… The first three stanzas are two columns, side by side, the left column is aligned to the right so they butt up against each other.  I’ve used |’s to separate the sides.

Place in poetry

I was going to write a post about how place is used in poetry as a complementary post to place in literature, and perhaps I still will, but I feel more drawn to sharing some examples of place in contemporary poems.

Gargoyle by Bruce Barnes writes from the perspective of York from one of the gargoyles on the minster.  I tried to find a copy online as I don’t like sharing work without permission but I couldn’t so instead I’m going to point you all to the Versions of the North anthology which is a great collection of contemporary Yorkshire poetry.  Having said that, here is an excerpt:

“Stuck up here, becoming less than what I was,
the mason’s mark still, even stone gets livid,
saying, “Oh, sod this for a game of soldiers…”

expletives deleted by the roar of the street”

I thought this was an interesting angle on place poetry, the gargoyles are such a fundamental, but vastly overlooked, part of the minster and they have endured for centuries, despite become less than they were.  They have seen immense change, creation and destruction, life and death, each gargoyle looking at a slightly different part of York, a deep knowing of the small view they have.

Adrienne Rich’s Turning the Wheel (listen to her reading this and other poems ) sums up sense of place for me in the first two lines:

“The road to the great canyon always feels
like that road and no other”

Far away from the Yorkshire I am familiar with, Rich writes of the universal experience of sense of place in those lines.  Here though, she is writing politically about the history of the place, what has been erased and what later becomes icon-ised, and in turn made unreal.  The history of the land, of place, in America is one that is often fraught with tension and violence and colonialism. A history that was ignored and that more recently has been rewritten.  “Nostalgia is only amnesia turned around”, writes Rich.

A very different poem is Amanda Dalton’s Making Space about both creating a room where there was none and creating space in our lives.  From the blurb for the collection, we find that

“How to Disappear shines a torch into the dark corners and finds a world inhabited by the missing and the dead, by monsters and wounded beasts, discarded dreams and the memories of strangers – a trawl through the apparently empty spaces and what might be found there.”

“For days the builders filled the house.
They lifted wood and fibreglass
into the dark hole in the roof.
She watched their shadows lurching
in uneven shafts of artificial light
and tried to understand how anyone
could ever make a space of this.”
an excerpt, again I couldn’t find an online copy

Jessie Lendennie’s Quay Street, Galway speaks to me of the parts of us we leave behind everywhere we go.  We lose something of ourselves in the places we move though but we gain something else, something we often can’t articulate.  But we change as we move through places and the places change as we move through them.  What ghosts have you left behind?

My final look at poetry and place is an anthology which describes itself as “a book of place-awareness and companion to illness from the writings of David Dorward, CP Will and Adam Watson”.  A far-off land is a small collection which is for MacMillan Cancer Support, here are some lines from it:

“to hear a place-name is to recollect a life”

“turn for home
when your foot-
steps stop follow-
ing behind you
in the snow”

“one learns          one learns
          to die        to live       
       by dying
         to live           to die       
by living               by dying”

Place features heavily in poetry, in many ways, shapes and forms and I hope I’ve given a flavour of the different ways of approaching place and poetry.

No One Is British

No one is British

On an island that has only existed

Eight millennia,

 

In a world that was born

Over four and a half

Billion years ago.

 

No one is British

In a land with a muddy,

Rain sodden history

Of raiders and invaders,

Of settlers and leavers

 

Rome took a chance

And Rome took charge

Then Rome retreated.

 

Not the first

And not the last

To dip a toe

In this archipelago.

 

Picti and Scotti and Attacotti

Preyed upon the shores.

Ravaged and rampaged

Looted and left.

 

In need of a place

To replace

Lost homes, Saxons and Angles

and Jutes showed up.

Desperately colonising

A nation of future colonialists.

 

No one is British.

On an island that has only existed

Eight millennia.

 

Keep your racism.

Keep your hate.

 

No one is British,

Not even you.

Leaving and returning: Travel and place

“Everyone wants to travel, but no one wants to be a tourist.”
– Bani Amor

This post is a bit of a hotch potch of thoughts about travel and place.  Surface level observations and ideas which feels appropriate given you can never know a place deeply if you are only passing through.  So follow me as we pass through a few topics about travel, tourism and place.

The journey

I could have chosen to include a cheesy image with some words about it’s the journey not the destination superimposed but I trust in the power of your imagination!

Obviously when we are thinking about travel, we are thinking about journeys, literal and metaphorical and these journeys change us.  The expose us to new places with new sights, new sounds, new ways of seeing and being in the world and these inevitably transform us in some way, however small.

Buying sense of place

“Tourism is about the consumption of place.  Like every other form of consumption, it is dependant upon brands… Majorca ad Amsterdam and Hawaii and New Zealand are brands, as much as Levi’s or Calvin Klein.”
– Scott Hamilton

One way of leaning into this idea of tourism as consumption of place is to consider spiritual tourism which, according to Amor, is “what happens when you take cultural appropriation on the road and call it a self-care journey.”  The tourism she is talking of is white, rich, westerners travelling to south American to partake in ayahuasca or retreats to Thailand to engage in yoga or even “spiritual cruises” which seem to offer everything and nothing.  Instead of colonising place, we are colonising ritual, beliefs and sacred practices.  Picking and choosing what takes our fancy instead of committing to a particular path.

Just as consumption of ayahuasca or engaging in yoga in Bali are consumed as shortcuts to mystical experience, sublime spirituality or another life changing event, some versions of tourism are consumed as shortcuts to finding sense of place.  You’ll note I say “consumed as”.  I am not saying these are shortcuts.  I don’t think there can be shortcuts in either case.  But as we’re talking about place, it’s important to note that you build a relationship with place, it is not something that can be crossed off a checklist in a second.  Without the work that the short cut evades, there can be no relationship, there can be no deep connection or understanding.  Even if you buy into tours that offer a more authentic experience of place, you still cannot truly have that.  It is not something available for tourists to consume as they pass through a place.

Travelling expands how we see and understand the world, ourselves and each other.  And if we visit a place without learning about or leaning into the culture and the way of life of the inhabitants, can we really say we’ve visited?  To visit without this, are we not just travelling around a museum of landscape and architecture?  Moving from placeless space to placeless space?  This is something that is particularly on my mind when I think of sites such as the pyramids, the taj mahal, anne franks house.  These are often semi-museumified spaces, wrapped in cotton wool and kept frozen in time.

And the increased globalisation and uniformity of the world makes it easy to travel without engaging.  You can go to a unique wondrous tourist site and pop into McDonalds afterwards.  It is easy to see the sites without making much attempt at feeling the sense of a place.  We will never, as passers through, get much of a sense of place, but it is worth the effort.  The reward is that you feel you’ve known somewhere, even if it is just a little.

When I take photos, I try and get a glimpse of a different angle.  Everyone else is taking a picture of the minster?  Well, you’ll find me round the back looking at bricks or statues.  This gives me a more intimate sense of the place, a more unique and personal experience.  When I was at Angkor Wat before sunrise (not by choice), everyone was hustling and bustling to retake the iconic picture and in doing that they were missing the experience of being there. Knowing I couldn’t create that image any better than the million already online, I sat and watched the sun rise instead and then took my own, more personal photographs:

DSC_0198 e

By happy coincidence, in today’s National Geographic newsletter there was an article about a photographer who takes the reverse photo at landmarks.

Looking back on my own travels, the places I’ve felt most connected to and enjoyed the most are those where I have spent more time and which have been smaller.  I’ve been able to explore more thoroughly and had more time to sit and watch and talk and get to know the idiosyncrasies of the place.

Travel and belonging

We often think of travel as fun, enjoyable and something to aspire to, but for some people, travel is a way of escaping death.  In a conversation between Porochista Khakpour and Alexander Chee in Bitch Magazine, they discuss forced travel.

“Your story of exile makes me wonder how we’re shaped by the trips we don’t get to choose.”
– Chee

Both are writers who have travelled and the article is looking at how travel has made them into the writers, and people, they are.  They talk of trips which transformed them as well as trips taken with the intent of transformation and trips that didn’t really turn out the way they’d anticipated.  The idea of travelling to figure out where we belong and how we fit into the world is another common theme.

“There are some trips that are actually about travelling inside, a journey you need to make in your own life that you can’t make if you stay in the place you live.  The physical boundaries of our lives are also the emotional ones.”
– Chee

Alongside the idea of forced travel is the less dangerous but still unsettling travel that occurs without having a home base.  To have somewhere to return to, to call home, offers stability and anchors travel.  To travel without a home can leave us feeling untethered and insecure.  There is a novelty in this but humans often crave both the adventure and the stable.

Leaving and returning

As humans, we are driven, in part, by a need to escape and paradoxically a need to belong.  Exploration and novelty sit uncomfortably with our desire to know and feel comfortable.

“Amongst the great struggles of man, there is also this mighty conflict between the fantasy of Home and the fantasy of Away, the dream of roots and the mirage of the journey.”
– Salman Rushdie

“The lure of escape and wanderlust is just as deeply implanted as its polar opposite, the desire to anchor oneself in a particular place, to know and care for somewhere that isn’t just anywhere.”
– Alastair Bonnett

To know a place, it can be argued, we must leave.  If we only ever know one place, how can we know what makes it unique, special, distinctive?

Feeling into the character of a different place highlights similarities and differences with the place we call home.  Think about it in terms of people – we don’t do well if we have just one relationship, instead we have different people in our lives who fulfil us in different ways.  We appreciate our sister’s kindness more because we’ve experienced our manager’s cruelty.  It is like the concept that without light there cannot be dark.  Can you have home if you have never left?

Travel gives us a break from our home ground and if you are lucky, when you return, you will refind and reappreciate those things that make it special to you.  It is not quite the same, but having spent a while in hospital in the past year, coming back to my flat was so much more powerful than I could have expected. I’d forgotten how much I love my home, how great my bed is, how nice it is to have lampshades and tea in my favourite mug.  All things I take for granted when I’m here day in day out.  To leave and return reopens your eyes.

“You are here”

Terra firma.
Rock solid.
Feet on the ground.

Unreal islands litter maps,
decoy towns, sacrificed
places, abandoned in trauma.

Demolition crumbles
tumbles
memories fall.

Terra firma?

Reshaped coastlines,
islands (dis)appearing.

Place creation.
Place destruction.

The Aral Sea, now desert, deserted.

Places lost to preservation,
museumified,
mummified,
dead.

Decay, disease, disaster.

Rock solid?

From Here Be Dragons
to No Man’s Land,
the inbetween;
limbo or liminal?

Nameless zones. Blank space. Urban void. Terrain vagueness. Gapscape. Waste ground.

Places beyond grasping
fingers
clawing feet. Not
unreachable, but unhumanable.

Erosion.
Corrosion.

Empty cities. Empty streets. Empty schools.
Empty museams wait
for events to record.
Ghost towns without ghosts.
No feet on the ground.

War torn
Wanton
Destruction.

Failed and fallen places,
air brushed from google maps.

Neglected. Discarded. Destroyed.

Lost. Invisible. Killed.

Terra firma?
Rock solid?
Feet on the ground?

You are (w)here?