Tag Archives: heart

Words Aren’t Working

Words and I aren’t having the best of relationships right now.
It started out decently at the beginning of February but by the end had deteriorated.

1. I learned a poem by heart. I spoke it aloud in the car, rolling it over and over. Then I returned to other poems I’d learned already and had let fall away. They came back quickly, settled right into my mind and slipped out of my mouth easily. They fit in the small trips I need to make every day. I said them even while on my bike, though quietly and under my breath (and between breaths if I was riding fast). It became an exercise in letting myself hear my own voice, in playing with the words and their meaning. It was a poem about giving oneself, about committing fully to this experience of life. It spoke to me but I’ll share it another time because the part of me it spoke to is a little wounded right now.

2. I’d set aside new writing for a bit. It was alright. I mean, I know professionals can’t do that, but I needed to keep up with other things and I’ve not graduated from hobbyist-status. I was still working on editing my own stories, though, for Shifted Visions. So, although I wasn’t acting as a midwife to words, I was at least a governess, seeing that they turn out right and can be presented in polite company.

3. I was working on a paid editing job, a translation. Translations are finicky, especially when the translators are working INTO a language in which they’ve not attained near-native fluency. It’s easy to go wrong and I started to see my approach to words change. I could imagine the text as a whole, as having its own completeness in its original form. It was a carrier of meaning in a context in which its shape made sense. Like a vessel, a bowl or cup, maybe.

So, imagine such a thing.

For the sake of illustration, though the original text I’m working with is not nearly so artful as this example, imagine that it’s a beautiful and meaningful thing, like this:

Gold_cup_kalardasht But then, in order for it to be comprehended and used in another place with its own cultural context, it has to be translated. And imagine that translation requires the item be taken apart down to its “base layers,” in this case down to the atoms of gold. At that level they’re still gold, but they have to be manipulated and moved. The words, in their own way are melted by the translator who passes them from one language, through his or her body and consciousness, and transforms their shape into the new language. They become new words.

What I inherited from the translators was something like this:

Golden-Bowl-of-Hasanlu

It was pretty mangled.

My brain now had to approach the words like this:

1364614919_c0812bcd5a_z

I have to admit, this is not the way to engage the part of you that likes to invite words to work their own magic, without force. That part of me had to just sit tight and hope the editing would get done soon.

4. And then a dear friend died – unexpectedly and tragically early. It wasn’t supposed to happen, like that or now.

I had been sad to leave Göttingen, where much of our three years there had felt sheltered and warmed by her and her family. I had assumed we’d meet again, had hoped to have her daughter stay with us this coming year for half of tenth grade, figured we’d meet up and travel a bit. But no.

I had to bear the news to all my family members. There are no right words for that. I wrote a condolence card to her husband and two daughters – to my friends – the best I could do from this distance – and in that effort I found that words don’t work. They don’t do the right thing, they don’t solve the problem or heal the hurt. They’re weak and ineffectual. I mean I said nice things but really, what we all want is for terrible things to not happen, for them to not shake and change our lives in this way.

5. One of our cats got seriously ill with a virus that is often carried by cats without effect. When it “mutates” and causes symptoms, though, it’s incurable and fatal. I had to make the decision to have him put to sleep before he suffered more. I know, cats don’t “rank up there” with people, but if you have any animals in your life, you know they’re people, too. He was special to me. We were friends.

We brought our cats back to the US with us from Göttingen and losing him felt like one more uprooting from what we loved there.

Again, I had to tell family members. I had to tell the cat though few of my words have ever made a lot of sense to him. I made sure that he knew in all the wordless ways how much we all loved him.

6. I kept everything running (admittedly it’s run on frozen pizza, some forgotten appointments, lots of tears and a sad kind of lonely inability to help anyone else’s grief). I’ve still had to drive here and there but couldn’t bear more than half a phrase of any poetry coming out of my mouth. I don’t want to say them. I don’t want to say much.

7. I am ‘conversational.’ I talk to people. I write down phone messages, notes for my master gardener class and comments in the margin of the translated text. The editing is not yet done. My head, though it stopped hurting from the inside, feels like it has been used to bang on bad English.

My heart still hurts and I’m wary about words.

8. I wrote this blog post.

 

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image credits:

Gold cup kalardasht“. (Achaemenid golden bowl with lion imagery). Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons

Gold Bowl of Hasanlu from Ancient Origins (it doesn’t appear to be original to Ancient Origins and it’s not labeled with a creative commons license but I’ll remove it from this blog if needed).

blacksmith photo by Daniel Burgui Iguzkiza on flickr, with creative commons license

not one is not held

A green heart for you !! have a sweet and nice weekend.

The Lives of the Heart

Are ligneous, muscular, chemical.
Wear birch-colored feathers,
green tunnels of horse-tail reed.
Wear calcified spirals, Fibonaccian spheres.
Are edible, are glassy; are clay; blue schist.
Can be burned as tallow, as coal,
can be skinned for garnets, for shoes.
Cast shadows or light;
shuffle; snort; cry out in passion.
Are salt, are bitter,
tear sweet grass with their teeth.
Step silently into blue needle-fall at dawn.
Thrash in the net until hit.
Rise up as cities as serpentined magma, as maples,
hiss lava-red into the sea.
Leave the strange kiss of their bodies
in Burgess Shale. Can be found, can be lost,
can be carried, broken, sung.
Lie dormant until they are opened by ice,
by drought. Go blind in the service of lace.
Are starving, are sated, indifferent, curious, mad.
Are stamped out in plastic, in tin.
Are stubborn, are careful, are slipshod,
are strung on the blue backs of flies
on the black backs of cows.
Wander the vacant whale-roads, the white thickets
heavy with slaughter.
Wander the fragrant carpets of alpine flowers.
Not one is not held in the arms of the rest, to blossom.
Not one is not given to ecstasy’s lions.
Not one does not grieve.
Each of them opens and closes, closes and opens
the heavy gate – violent, serene, consenting, suffering it all.

–Jane Hirshfield

intensity of the light

image credits:

Matthew Fang via Compfight

sunset by Vala Run

Jane Hirshfield‘s poem, The Lives of the Heart, is from the book of the same name, published in 1997 by HarperPerennial. I’m re-reading it.

gratitude songs

May 2014 end well for you and 2015, fed with gratitude and attention, flourish.

All living growth is emergent, arising from a previous state as though it were the most natural thing in the world, which it is —  though of course the new state of being is only one option among many.

In recognition that each moment fuels the moments to come, each action opens opportunity for other action, each phase of being is the child of that which came before and the parent of what is yet to exist, I hope for a beginning of a year that naturally unfolds and leads toward greater fulfillment.

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For a New Beginning

In out of the way places of the heart
Where your thoughts never think to wander
This beginning has been quietly forming
Waiting until you were ready to emerge.

For a long time it has watched your desire
Feeling the emptiness grow inside you
Noticing how you willed yourself on
Still unable to leave what you had outgrown.

It watched you play with the seduction of safety
And the grey promises that sameness whispered
Heard the waves of turmoil rise and relent
Wondered would you always live like this.

Then the delight, when your courage kindled,
And out you stepped onto new ground,
Your eyes young again with energy and dream
A path of plenitude opening before you.

Though your destination is not clear
You can trust the promise of this opening;
Unfurl yourself into the grace of beginning
That is one with your life’s desire.

Awaken your spirit to adventure
Hold nothing back, learn to find ease in risk
Soon you will be home in a new rhythm
For your soul senses the world that awaits you.

– John O’Donohue

“Something inside you won’t stop loving the world, no matter what weather comes.”

In a beautiful, brief, meditative post on autumn and life’s tenuous tenacity, Charlotte Du Cann writes,

Some things you can’t capture in a photograph in a time of fall: the scent of woodsmoke, the perfume of a quince, the sound of the sea roaring in the darkness, a sky with bright constellations, the knowledge that once this was the time of the reed, now sere in the marshes, which was gathered to thatch the rooves of houses. A time of shelter from the storm and of waiting…

In her typically grounded-in-place writing style, she considers a downed thrush, still warm in her hands and what the un-photographable has to do with being

In a world that is fast losing its songbirds and its poets. On a day when you struggle to pick up the camera and go into the lane and photograph the colours and shapes of those things you write . . . . and yet you go. Because something inside you won’t stop loving the world, no matter what weather comes. It’s a covenant we made with the earth a long time ago.

Read her full post here, it’s really lovely.

The Livingness of Things

(This is a repost of an article that first appeared on my old site.)

Stephen Harrod Buhner’s The Secret Teachings of Plants: The Intelligence of the Heart in the Direct Perception of Nature leaves a trail of tidbits to coax the intellect along on the path to heart-centeredness. Here are excerpts showing some of the landmarks. Food for the brain, if you will.

From subatomic particles to atoms and from atoms to molecules meeting, mixing and cohering into compounds, a profound ability to self-organize is present in all matter.

Bubblechamber

When a large number of molecules congregate in close proximity, the random motions of the billions and billions of molecules will at some point show a sudden alteration in behavior; all of them will start to spontaneously synchronize. They begin to move and vibrate together. They begin acting in concert, actively cooperating and become tightly coupled together into one, interacting whole exhibiting a collective, macroscopically ordered state of being. They become a unique living system of which the smaller subunits (the molecules) are now only a part. (36)

667px-Bubblechamber2c

These systems of organized matter are given the descriptor “living” because they exhibit the tendency to seek out and maintain balance between states of organization/reorganization.

At the moment this threshold is crossed, at the moment when self-organization occurs, the new living system enters a state of dynamic equilibrium. And to maintain self-organization, the system constantly works to maintain that state of dynamic equilibrium… (40)

2388-004-2B346319

In our culture we usually find the notion of inert matter having “life” so foreign that I even have to put quotes around it here, as though it is can only be conceived as a sub-category of alive-ness. But matter engages in behavior that cannot by accounted for by chance or randomness – it has an intelligence (an ability to sense and respond to information) and a preference.

In that moment of self-organization, the system begins to display something other than synchronicity as well. It begins to act as a unit, to have behaviors. The whole, tightly coupled system begins to act upon its microscopic parts to stimulate further, often much more complex, synchronizations. A continuous stream of information begins flowing back and forth, extremely rapidly, between the macroscopic, ordered whole to smaller microscopic subunits and back again so that the self-organizing structure is stabilized, its newly acquired dynamic equilibrium actively maintained. (37)

In the case of the image below, some of the information being processed by the system includes temperature fluctuation.
1-s2.0-S0921509300018566-gr4

In self-organized systems, the information from the smaller subunit – which travels to the larger whole as chemical cues, electromagnetic fluxes, pressure waves and so on – creates a response in the larger system, which is fed back to the initial site as a new informational pulse. This informational waveform travels through the system affecting and altering everything it touches. And these informational pulses travel back and forth extremely rapidly, for as long as the system itself remains self-organized. (38)

mitochondria

Self-organized systems are living identities that engage in continual communication, both internal and external. They are not isolated, static units that can be understood in isolation. To examine them in isolation kills the living entity itself, and paying attention to the thing and not its communications – its balance-initiated information exchange – reveals very little about the true nature of what is being studied. (41)

From here Buhner continues to explore the ways self-organized systems (of all scales) are designed for interaction (inter-action, it’s not one-directional). Surfaces are complex and extensive (just look at that mitochondria) to allow for greater contact.

That fractal geometry is found in the surfaces of self-organized systems is important, for it is actually a highly sophisticated and crucial aspect of maintaining stability. The folding and fracturing that occurs along and between dimensions in living organisms allows them to couple with – to touch- the world around them at a nearly infinite number of points, a great many more than if their edges were merely straight lines. For when any organism wrinkles its exterior (or any interior) surface, it tremendously increases the area of that surface and the length of its edges. This increase significantly expands the organism’s ability to gather information from its external and internal environments. And when it wrinkles its functioning, it tremendously increases the number of possible behavioral responses available to it. Having a nearly infinite number of responses allows an organism to maximize its behavioral options for any potential internal or external environmental flux that its nearly infinite touching reveals to it.(41)

sea-anemone06-carpet_17647_600x450

When an organism or system has a repertoire of behaviors, ways it can respond to change (inputs and losses), the more resilient it is. This resiliency is behind the strength of diversity. Mere diversity (an agglomeration of differences) is of little use unless it can provide new paths and patterns of behavior to turn to. Again, this relates to self-organized systems’ constant dance of balance in which new balances can be found and maintained – never is this static.

meandering-river

Anything a self-organized, living system detects – anything that touches it – affects its balance. And this stimulates the system to shift its functioning, however minutely, in order to maintain its dynamic equilibrium. All nonlinear systems – all living organisms – are like this. And what facilitates their ability to respond to the minute touches of the world upon them is that they are not in a permanent equilibrium, not in a static state of being. They are poised, powerfully balanced, held in dynamic tension from one tiny fractal moment to the next. There is no one state to which they return when they are disturbed. They are always shifting, altering themselves, always about to fall into disequilibrium from environmental perturbations and always reorganizing – reestablishing a dynamic equilibrium – in new ways.(42)

This is why, in spite of a certain predictability or regularity to the form and structure of such systems, there is still vast difference. A cypress tree looks like a cypress tree (and not a sycamore), but every cypress tree is different for having lived its own life (which was informed by its parent material) with an immense amount of informational input.

DSC_0105-M

… it is the information, the meaning encoded within the perturbation, that is important, not the form in which it is delivered. The form is merely one possible language of communication out of myriad possibilities. In the end it is the meaning inside the behavior that is significant, not the behavior itself. It is not the chemical released, nor the movement of the body, nor the electromagnetic field that is important, but the information, the meaning that it carries. And for too long scientists have assumed that there is no meaning in Nature. As a result they have spent their time studying static, dead forms, when the communications of meaning themselves are the essential thing. (It is no wonder then, that after years of schooling, so many of us now believe that life is meaningless, or that scientists have made Prozac to help us not notice how we feel.) (43-44, emphasis added)

774 - Neuron Connection - Pattern

All self-organized systems are, in fact, intelligent. They have to be. For they must continually monitor their environments, internal and external; detect perturbations; decide on the basis of those perturbations what the likely effect will be; and respond to them in order to maintain self-organization. (45)

All the millions upon millions of signals or perturbations that impact cells affect their equilibrium. They process the information encoded in the stimulus that pushed them back into disequilibrium and use it to generate behaviors that restore equilibrium. (46)

If you suspect that we only obliquely made it from the intellect to the heart (if we made it at all) keep in mind (ha!) that the heart of course is a self-organized system (made of other self-organizing systems) in dynamic equilibrium that is constantly “updated” with meaning generated from everything around it. It is, in fact, a meaning-making generator and a meaning-perceiving receiver. We just tend to propagate the notion that it’s a pump and only a pump.
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Image credits: First two images display results found in a bubble chamber used to track the paths of subatomic particles. Numerous copies exist online and I was unable to find the original sources, though the second is available here.

The third is from The Encyclopedia Britannica.

The fourth, the dual image, includes the caption:  Electron diffraction patterns observed from rapidly cooled (a) and slowly cooled (b) Al70Ni20Ru10 alloys. Image source: Ordered structures in decagonal quasicrystals with simple and body-centered hypercubic lattices, by Hiraga, K. et al, published by Elsevier on Science Direct.

Next is a picture of a mitochondria – an organism in a cellular universe. But a cell is also an organism, in its own universe (like an organ, say) and an organ is an organism in its own world or habitat as well (that can be kept alive outside the body in some cases), and what we conceive of as the individual is also an organism in its own universe… ad infinitum? Image found in several locations, including here (Science Illustrated – Australia – and they cite it as a Shutterstock image. In which case I probably shouldn’t post it, but it IS pretty!).

The sea anemone is from National Geographic.

The meandering river (the Williams River in Alaska) appears here, with credit given to N.D. Smith.

The 106 year old Mendocino Cypress shown here looks different from its relatives in Mendocino because of the efforts of a member of the Redwood Empire Bonsai Society  (I had trouble finding a good, unlicensed, photo of the massive trees in their native place. Next time I go I’ll see what I can do – though it may be a while).

Illustration of a neuron/connection by Patrick Hoesly