Wandering Wednesday: Where Will the Thicket Be?

I was reading The Power of Myth this morning, an adjusted transcript of the conversations that took place between Bill Moyers and Joseph Campbell on Skywalker Ranch and later at the Museum of Natural History in New York.

I quoted Campbell in this post, and now he has inspired another of my Wandering Wednesday posts. My original idea for this series was to speak about travel and everything travel-related. I still plan to continue with that, but I don't think that it makes sense to ignore the other meaning of "wandering"--not just wandering to a specific place on the globe, but wandering through life, wandering toward our bliss, wandering through nature...

In The Power of Myth, Campbell quotes Chief Seattle, one of the last spokesman of the Paleolithic moral order (Paleolithic meaning "Stone Age" and reflecting the hunters and gatherers who used myths to communicate natural truths). In the mid-nineteenth century, the U.S. Government sent him an inquiry about buying the tribal lands for U.S. settlers, and this was Chief Seattle's inspiring reply:

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The President in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy our land. But how can you buy or sell the sky? The land? The idea is strange to us. If we do not own the freshness of the air and the sparkle of the water, how can you buy them? 

Every part of this earth is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every meadow, every humming insect. All are holy in the memory and experience of my people. 

We know the sap which courses through the trees as we know the blood that courses through our veins. We are part of the earth and it is part of us. The perfumed flowers are our sisters. The bear, the deer, the great eagle, these are our brothers. The rocky crests, the juices in the meadow, the body heat of the pony, and man, all belong to the same family. 

The shining water that moves in the streams and rivers is not just water, but the blood of our ancestors. If we sell you our land, you must remember that it is sacred. Each ghostly reflection in the clear waters of the lakes tells of events and memories in the life of my people. The water's murmur is the voice of my father's father. 

The rivers are our brothers. They quench our thirst. They carry our canoes and feed our children. So you must give to the rivers the kindness that you would give any brother. 

If we sell you our land, remember that the air is precious to us, that the air shares its spirit with all the life it supports. The wind that gave our grandfather his first breath also receives his last sigh. The wind also gives our children the spirit of life. So if we sell you our land, you must keep it apart and sacred, as a place where man can go to taste the wind that is sweetened by the meadow flowers. 

Will you teach your children what we have taught our children? That the earth is our mother? What befalls the earth befalls all the sons of the earth. 

This we know: the earth does not belong to man, man belongs to the earth. All things are connected like the blood that unites us all. Man did not weave the web of life, he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself. 

One thing we know: our god is also your god. The earth is precious to him and to harm the earth is to heap contempt on its creator. 

Your destiny is a mystery to us. What will happen when the buffalo are all slaughtered? The wild horses tamed? What will happen when the secret corners of the forest are heavy with the scent of many men and the view of the ripe hills is blotted by talking wires? Where will the thicket be? Gone! Where will the eagle be? Gone! And what is it to say goodbye to the swift pony and the hunt? The end of living and the beginning of survival. 

When the last Red Man has vanished with his wilderness and his memory is only the shadow of a cloud moving across the prairie, will these shores and forests still be here? Will there be any of the spirit of my people left? 

We love this earth as a newborn loves its mother's heartbeat. So, if we sell you our land, love it as we have loved it. Care for it as we have cared for it. Hold in your mind the memory of the land as it is when you receive it. Preserve the land for all children and love it, as God loves us all. 

As we are part of the land, you too are part of the land. This earth is precious to us. It is also precious to you. One thing we know: there is only one God. No man, be he Red Man or White Man, can be apart. We are all brothers after all.

The Day that I Lose My Wisdom (Teeth)

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My bottom two wisdom teeth, both of which are impacted, are coming out tomorrow at 8 AM. I have Ben & Jerry's frozen yogurt (strawberry shortcake-flavored), popsicles, and Amy's Rice Mac & Cheese in the freezer. I have split pea and black bean and vegetable and cashew carrot ginger soups cluttering the counter. I have liquid ice packs. I have a newly-cleaned room and a newly-organized book shelf awaiting my return.

But now it is starting to get dark. I am looking out of my window at our quiet yard, and I can still see the tree, and the patio pavers, and the neighbor's house, but everything is becoming shadowy. In twelve hours, I will be lying in one of those big, strange dentists chairs as an oral surgeon puts a mask over my face, and when I wake up, my teeth will be gone, and I will come home and lie in bed for a few days.

It doesn't sound so bad, but I am starting to feel a teensy bit terrified. I don't have phobias of spiders or snakes or the dark, but I have always been afraid that my teeth will fall out or crumble or become filled with cavities. It is this fear that is prompting me to get my wisdom teeth taken out, since they are pushing against my other teeth and generally wreaking havoc, and it is this fear that makes the idea of having someone slice through my gums and drill into my jaw bone oh-so-horrifying.

So wish me luck. I will blog again and let you know how everything turned out as soon as I feel well enough! In the meantime, I will be eating Ben & Jerry's and watching Friends, high on pain medicine and swathed in blankies.

Spring

It finally feels like spring here in Santa Fe. No, the flowers aren't blooming yet. And yes, the weather man is predicting a snow storm coming through this weekend. But for the first time in months, I step outside with bare feet and am amazed by the warmth of the concrete.

Today, I pushed my bedroom window wide open, and when even that was not enough, I went outside to read. I lay on the grass for a few minutes. I did the only yoga poses I could remember and loved the way the sun felt on my pale skin.

I always say that rain is my favorite weather. Nothing excites me like a rainy day. But I also love that first warmth of spring. You have almost forgotten what it feels like--for the world to be embracing and lovely.

Happy Almost-Spring to all of you.


P.S. The photo was taken last summer by my sister. We had a full blooming garden, and it was so beautiful. We probably won't do it again (too much watering in the desert), but I still can't wait to see new growth coming into our lawn and trees.

To Live

“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.”

-Oscar Wilde

Photo by Nirrimi

Wandering Wednesdays: Follow Your Bliss

Joseph Campbell, the famous mythologist responsible for publishing dozens of works and giving the well-known TV lecture, "The Power of Myth," said something once that has inspired me since the first time I heard it. 

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In my hometown, one of the attractive lifeguards at the community pool had this quote tattooed onto his back. While everyone else was admiring his shoulder blades, I was squealing over a man who appreciated Joseph Campbell. 

And why shouldn't he? Nearly everyone--if not everyone--responds to this quote. Why? Because most of us allow our lives to be guided by extrinsic motivations. We do well in school because we have to get into a good college so that we can get a good job so that we can support ourselves so that we can finally, after all of that work, do what makes us happy. 

But this linear plan is a myth in our modern world. And when things don't go according to plan, we finally realize that we have invested all of our energy in pursuits that did not feed our soul. The only reason that we persevered was that we believed there would be some sort of pay-off at the end. And now we know that this belief is not always true, and we are not in the place that we thought we would be. We have not reached the point at which we have succeeded enough and suffered enough to finally focus on what makes us happy.  

But we don't have to reach that point. We can be happy now. 

The easiest, simplest, and most adventurous way to live the kind of life that you want to live is to follow your bliss. It will not lead you astray--not in the big scheme of things. There will be hiccups and doubts and moments of overwhelming fear. Joseph Campbell himself went through a period in which he lived at a friend's house in California, had no idea what his purpose was in life, and sent out dozens of applications for teaching positions every year, which were rejected. 

But if you follow your bliss, you will at least have the comfort of knowing that you are living for the right reason. And you will be surprised at the beautiful things that come of it. 

Lazy Days in Santa Fe

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I come from a family of hermits. We are oftentimes content to pass the day away at home, reading Jane Austen novels, watching some television, wandering around outside in warmer months, making protein shakes, petting cats.

I enjoy these lazy days, but I get restless much more easily than either my mother or my sister. I need to have someplace to go, someplace to be, something to see. My ideal life is a balance of adventure and rest, tugging and slackening, diving and wading.

I have spent the weekend doing SAT prep, finishing Pride and Prejudice, and reading/editing my friend Taylor's unpublished first novel. I have also been fantasizing about next year, deciding what I want to learn and where I want to go. Taylor is going to be in college in Galway, Ireland, so I am saving up all of my money from work in anticipation of visiting her (more about this on Wandering Wednesday).

I hope that you are all having a lazy day of your own, if you need one, or an adventurous day, if you don't. I will be back tomorrow.

Until then, big hugs.

Wandering Wednesdays: Where I Want to Be & What I Would Bring

Earlier this week, I was looking through a description for a summer program in Australia, and I fell in love. Hard. With Australia's barren, breathtaking landscape, with its kangaroos and koalas, with the Great Barrier Reef, with the 500 words that belong solely to Australians (even though we speak the same language), with sunsets and the Sidney Opera House and beaches in Queensland.

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There is a part of me that looks at all of these beautiful places, and my heart just stirs and sinks and rises and stirs. I want to see it all. And yet I know that there are places that will be left unseen, whole countries that will go unexplored.

Australia will not be one of them, however. I am putting it on my list. My friend Taylor just returned from nannying in New Zealand, and that struck me as being such a brilliant way of traveling. Her room and board were paid for, and she received a small weekly payment that was enough to go on some sightseeing trips and explore the town. Maybe I will find myself a nannying job in one of the rural sheep-herding villages of Australia, or in a bustling city like Queensland or Sidney.

So, let's just say that sometime in the not-so-distant future, I will find my way to Australia. What will I bring?

This cute one piece from ModCloth, or maybe this two piece from Urban Outfitters.

This backpack, also from ModCloth, for carrying around maps, sunscreen, and money.

A canteen for hikes in the outback.

And, finally, this cardigan from Urban Outfitters. It would be perfect for nights around the campfire, especially when paired with shorts, skinny boots, and leg warmers.

Happy Wandering Wednesday!

Inspiration

For the Scotland summer program I am applying to, I had to write an essay about the person or people who inspire me. I thought that it might be fun to post it here, too. I haven't spoken much about why I decided to homeschool. Though it was an undertaking that excited me because of my fascination with education, it was a decision that became necessary when my sister got sick, so that my mom could return to work part-time. I do talk about my educational philosophy in this essay, for anyone who is interested. I hope that you enjoy it, and if you have any questions about the people I mention or my decision to homeschool or any number of things, don't hesitate to ask.

I was riding in a car the first time that I read John Holt’s name, written in small print with the word “by” placed in front of it. His essay “School is Bad for Children” was the first in an anthology that was assigned for an online college class I was taking. I had brought the book along on a three-hour trip, planning to skim through all of the essays in anticipation for the first day of class. Instead, I read “School is Bad for Children” from its first word to its last, pausing only to read entire paragraphs aloud to my mom and to laugh quietly at the joy of discovering Holt.

In the course of a single essay, Holt had changed the way that I looked at the educational system and at myself as a student. He had taught me the names for concepts that I already understood on an inherent level, had convinced me that my love of learning was more important than test scores and report cards and was precious enough that I needed to listen to it, follow it, and encourage it to thrive and prosper, rather than letting it wilt in a classroom while a teacher read from a textbook. 

I believe that inspiration finds us when we need it. Sometimes it lies dormant for years, slowly rising inside of us, so that when faced with an important decision, we will suddenly know what to do. And sometimes inspiration first finds us in the process of trying to make that important decision. We open up a tab on our computer and see a photograph that shows us the kind of life we want to live. And we suddenly know what decision to make.

John Holt, for me, was the inspiration that lay dormant. When I read his essay in seventh grade, most of my classes were satisfying my curiosity and my love of learning. It was enough for me to understand what Holt was saying and feel passionately about it, without having to act in response to it. Then, earlier this year, I made what I consider to be my first Holt-prompted decision: I started homeschooling.

I had been considering the idea of homeschooling all school year, and I could have easily chosen not to act, if I hadn’t stumbled upon the blog of Nirrimi Hakanson, a nineteen-year-old Australian photographer who dropped out of high school at age sixteen to pursue her photography and ended up working on several national photography campaigns, traveling around the globe to take pictures. Nirrimi’s words, like Holt’s words years before, created a kind of stirring sensation in my bones. Her photographs, interspersed throughout her blog entries, are characterized by their simplicity and happiness. She tries to capture the essence of childhood, and in the process she conveys what it means to really be living. My life was different than her photographs, characterized by hours spent in my bedroom working on research papers, not rain-dampened backyards and laughter. But I believed enough in the way that Nirrimi was living her life—out of intrinsic, rather than extrinsic motivations—that I took the first step in living my own.

I will always feel thankful for the people who inspire me by teaching me what is important and how much is possible. Most recently, two authors, Jonathan Safran Foer and Nicole Krauss, have captured me with their words. I have listened to their interviews and pored over their passages. In one breath, they make me want to write, and they make me never want to write again.

In a lecture given at Princeton University, Foer mentioned that he was inspired to become a writer, in part, by the artwork of Joseph Cornell. “I liked the idea of devoting my life to trying to make somebody else feel the way that his art made me feel,” Foer said. Listening to a recording of the lecture on my computer, I understood the overarching and enduring impact that one Cornell box or one photograph or one essay can have on the world. What if no one had inspired Cornell to create his artwork? Then Foer may not have become a writer, and I may have never been sitting on my bed, listening to his lecture, wanting him to know that he makes me feel the way that Cornell’s art made him feel. 

(Photo here)