day 44: just a bird?

This morning as I was getting ready to step into the shower, I looked through the skylight and saw a most amazing big yellow bird with a red head! It seemed to be calm and powerful, as it gazed through the thick boughs of cedar and hopped from branch to branch. I watched for a while (wishing I had my phone), and he remained present during my shower and afterwards. But when I was dressed and dashed downstairs to get my phone and came back upstairs again, he was gone.

Now I did take a minute to search “yellow bird with red head” and quickly got the answer: it was a Western Tanager, not uncommon in these parts, apparently.

But more importantly, I now think about him still and the vision makes me feel like something just happened. The dazzling vision—of bright yellow with black and white wings, flashing a red head with black eyes, looking through the graceful green boughs—seems like a sign. It is a sign that a bird feels safe in my cedar tree—the tree of wisdom, according to the native peoples of this region—which means to me that this place is sacred. From there it is but a hop to conclude that my work–in a room looking over this tree–could be sacred too. As a lovely poem by Pascale Petit goes:

“They say we are just embroiderers

but when we are working well, our tower turns

into burnished fire and the mantle flows

from our fingers, tumbling through the air

in loops of delight.”*

 

So this message goes out to my brothers and sisters, the seamstresses, tailors, sewers, stitchers of all ages and nations: take heart! Your work matters, and you matter too. What we are sewing now will become part of this time’s collective memory, so make it beautiful! Or, as my motto goes:

La vie est trop courte pour se protéger tristement.

(Life is too short to wear a sad mask.)

 

Also, alongside yesterday’s face mask production, is a picture of our new T-Shirt!

Exclusive!  Honey Girl t-shirts, now available for just $10 each (cash or check)  in West Seattle (on my porch) or by mail order (w/SASE upon request).

Sizes:  Youth Medium; Adult Small; Adult Medium; Adult Large; Adult Extra-Large.  Email quickly to reserve yours, juliawsea@gmail.com !

(While my face masks take lots of time, these t-shirts are already done, and allow you to spread the good feelings with our winsome puppy logo.)

 

* from Pascale Petit, “Creation of the Himalayas,” cited in Sharon Blackie, If Women Rose Rooted, p. 180. Poem inspired by painting Embroidering the Earth’s Mantle by Remedios Varo (1961, featured below, with thanks to https://www.wikiart.org/en/remedios-varo/embroidering-the-earth-s-mantle-1961

 

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little ideas for an enchanted life

Hi readers,

Did you ever discover a writer who seems to be saying what you wish you knew, or are in the process of discovering? As one with an active imagination (some might say over-active), this has happened to me on several memorable occasions, starting maybe with Richard Kraus (in the wonderful set of books known as “Bunny’s Nutshell Library”), later with Jean-Jacques Rousseau (the Confessions), and most recently with the books by Sharon Blackie. I have not quite finished The Enchanted Life yet but it is due back at the library so I’m going to order my own copy today and, to make my commitment public, share some tips here.

Little things to do, to make life feel more enchanting:

1. Build an attachment to some “things” in the place where you live. This can be done by speaking or singing to some living creature (birds maybe?), touching (a special tree perhaps?), or otherwise learning to love some part of the natural world on a regular basis. It could be visiting a special stone on your daily walk, and addressing it as you pass.  As Blackie writes, “Like any new relationship, it is about building attachments to particular locations and features which, over time, become familiar and loved. You can learn to belong anywhere, in this way, if you choose. It’s an act of creation, and like all acts of creation, it’s also an act of love, and an enormous leap of faith” (55).
2. Allow wonder back into your vocabulary, and seek out places that fill you with awe. Quoting philosopher William James, Blackie notes, wonder is “a key to human potential.” Such experiences “break us open, and invite us to open ourselves to the possibility that there might be an order of reality which lies beyond that which we can experience through our physical senses” (77). For me, this is the Pacific Coast and all the wonderful saltwater beaches of Seattle. I feel like a little kid again, walking on those slippery, sandy logs and looking for sea anemones in the cold and windy tidal zones…  (the pic below was taken at one of my all-time favorite places, the Quileute Nation beaches near LaPush, WA).
3. Accept not-knowing. Consider each day a phenomenon that unfolds as part of a long-term mystery, instead of a list of chores to check off before you’re allowed back to bed. Embrace philosopher Søren Kierkegaard’s maxim–“Life is a mystery to be lived, not a problem to be solved.” (88)
4. Blackie’s book is full of little quizzes you can take, and concrete suggestions to improve your state of mind. For example, she suggests thinking about plants you love. As Blackie writes, “Scan your life, and you’ll find there are at least one or two plants that intrigue, comfort or inspire you. Like any good relationship, your connection with this plant will need tending. … Perhaps put a picture of it in your bedroom, or try growing it, or sit with it. Eat it if you can! The more intimacy you create, the more you will learn (just like in human relationships)” (251).

The image above is of a flower called Fritillaria meleagris (painted by Rory McEwen). I had never seen this flower until 2002, when I had the good fortune to make friends with Isabelle Pottier Thomas who then lived in Saint-Jean-des-Mauvrets, not far from my then-home in Angers, France. Once a week, I would drive out to Saint-Jean and we would go for long walks around her village, in the vineyards and orchards of the beautiful valleys near the Loire river, and our friendship gradually took on a wondrous shape of its own. It was an odd and awkward friendship at first, between two opposites–she the stern, reserved Norman, and me, the over-enthusiastic, naive American–or that’s how it felt, until we realized that each of us mirrored the feelings of the other, deep down. The Fritillaria was a fragile spring wildflower that Isabelle brought to my attention on one of those walks.  They don’t last long, so you have to enjoy them while you can. Neither did Isabelle, who died way too young.

I ordered some Fritillaria seeds this week. They are coming from very far away, and they won’t flower for months after I plant them, but the very fact that they are on their way now makes me happy.  I hope that the purple blooms will rekindle memories of those walks, and Isabelle’s feisty funny spirit will continue to enchant this life…

In the meantime, I’m going to the park again today with Honey Girl!

six months later…

arriving in WSEA July 2, 2018

Alki Beach walk, January 4, 2019

… the move from South Bend, Indiana to Seattle, Washington is still a dream come true.  Living in West Seattle feels like an American dream of living in Scandinavia, Sweden or Denmark maybe. There are the adorable boutiques and minimalist art galleries decorated with rough wood and silver dock-rigging. The long dark nights, the tanker ships and busy harbor, and the no-nonsense neon-wearing bike-riding commuters. It has organic everything, it’s cozy, rainy,  and anti-gun.

And it has seals and sea lions, sea gulls and herons. Fog, sprinkles, and torrents. Tug boats leading container ships painted bright blue, yellow and black, from Hamburg to Hong Kong. And the roiling, inky-black mother sea lies underneath it all, holds it up, makes it possible.

Tonight while Honey Girl and I were walking on the bulkhead at Alki Beach, something cool happened!

It was a quiet and very dark evening under a New Moon, few people were around. The tide must have been going out fast; from the beach you could hear a clattering noise, as the shiny grey rocks rolled down into the cold water only to roll back up again when the next wave came in. Suddenly my dog and I both looked to our left, and there in the middle of a small lagoon, rings were forming around a seal bobbing nearby. It snuffed and sputtered air, bobbing along and looking at us, three times before disappearing under the waves. Maybe it was my white parka; he may have been wondering what that white light was, moving along the horizon. Or maybe it was Honey Girl–she was definitely aware of the seal–were they communicating with each other?  It seemed simpatico…., at any rate she looked happy, if a bit excited.

With all I’ve been reading about chi or spirit lately and the constant practice of T’ai chi, I’ve come to believe that energy or chi exists. It may manifest as a non-verbal entity that is impossible to explain, but it is quite real. It warms up your hands and calms down your thoughts. It can be felt and shared, too, among humans and between species. That seal’s presence tonight was peaceful and curious; it was a serene feeling to know she was unafraid of us, and that we could exist together silently in the dark before parting ways. I felt happy for the water quality of Elliott Bay too; the abundance of life in these waters proves it’s still alive, pure enough if not perfect… like all of us.

Lately I’ve been thinking about seals a lot because of reading stories of Selkies–seal-women who can become human, but only for a while–and other magical women in Sharon Blackie’s weird and wonderful book, If Women Rose Rooted: The Journey to Authenticity and Belonging.  Its title is odd, but the book is deeply worth reading if you seek to make sense out of being a woman in our world today.

I’ll leave you with a cheerful quote from that book:

No star is ever lost

we once have seen

We always may be

what we might have been.  (p. 89)

 

These are my New Year’s resolutions: to embrace life with no regrets and to forgive those who have done me wrong. To make ways to see the people I love all over the world, and make new friends here in Seattle.  To remember the fleeting nature of our time here on earth, and cherish the memory of the dead.

Six months never flew by so fast!