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Dedicated to the Muse in All of Us
A warm hello to all and welcome to Issue 7 of the Solutionary Press. As always, please use the links below to forward or unsubscribe. Look for the next issue in Fall, '08.
I started this ezine, The Solutionary Press, in 2006 to pursue my vision and bring it into this cognitive reality somehow. Pursuing a vision is like trying to locate the beginning of a rainbow. The closer I would get to its source, the more it evaporated into billions of particles with no order or apparent meaning, until I was forced to let go of my pursuit. It seems to be a bit like a fickle bride who does not want to be pursued, but rather discovered on her own terms. The more I have learned to respect this, and to revere her in each day--even when I cannot see the rainbow--it has slowly roused the volcano inside of me, and now I can only go forward and never give up this vision.
I write to you in this very auspicious time on the planet. We are writing history; collectively we are deciding what will be passed on to our children for generations to come. In my lifetime, never before have opposites been both clarified and made useless in the same sentence. Superficialities are leaving us hungry while we watch profound change in the world around us take hold. It doesn’t matter where you are on the globe. The change is everywhere. We have many choices to ponder at this time. There are many of which that we are not able to understand fully their longterm implications, but we still must choose. In my vision there are no wrong choices. There is only the power that is released in us when we take responsibility for our very important contribution to ourselves and to the countless lives that we affect every day. Thus this leads to the question: What do we want to see for our children?
I see our humanity as a tremendous resource that has barely been tapped. What is our humanity? Do we ‘pull out’ our humanity in the wake of a human disaster such as '9/11'. The most common definition of 'humanity' offered in the the dictionary is 'kindness'. That’s a very good place to start! There’s a part of nearly all of us that cherishes the opportunity to reach out and help someone--especially someone we have never met, or even better, someone the status quo has determined we should hate instead. We all want to be the 'hero' and every day we have an opportunity to do just that.
In the meantime, we can help one another by sharing our stories, listening to one another, learning from one another and inspiring one another to be the best human possible. That is the mission of the Solutionary Press--to provide a platform of solutions as offered by all of us. It’s my version of passing on the age-old tradition of story-telling in the modern technology age.
Do you have a nice picture you would like to share, have a story or event that inspired you, a poem, a song, a fun link, or a good idea for making the world a better place? All are welcome here. Please email for more information: solutions@whatarelief.net
The zine continues to expand and this issue has a diversity of offerings. I hope you find something you like… Enjoy!
Contributions to this issue include:
Tita Wernimont - top banner photo - TRANSITION - farewell Bean Downs
Carolyn Royce - SPOTLIGHT- 'Does the Journey End, when the Journey Ends?'
Adelyn Oliver - POETRY - 'Tomorrow'
Tom Sears - FEATURE - 'Me and the Bears'
Thank you all, and without further adieu...please welcome, Carolyn Royce!
SPOTLIGHT - Carolyn Royce
Does the Journey End, when the Journey Ends?
Reflections on a trip, one year after my return.
“What will you leave here and what will you take home?” Chris asked me. It was the summer solstice, June, 2007 and we were in a rough campsite overlooking the Gila River in southern New Mexico. I had been away from Boston for the 2006-2007 school year, and was almost ready to begin the journey back East. Chris lives in Albuquerque, and her friendship was a gift. She is one of those extraordinary people who is brilliant in politics and profound in philosophy; she loves beauty and makes a fabulous cup of coffee. Now she was helping me ease into my return from my quest, my search to consider the question Can I live my life differently?
I had been so restless in my job and home for several years, and dreamed of starting over. My children were grown, I was no longer married, and I felt burdened by an old home and an exhausting job. I had lived in the same neighborhood for decades. I couldn’t think of how to bring a change about, but bit by bit, a plan began to take shape. My sister Nancy provided the spark with comradely phone calls. “You have nothing to lose,” she would say, “and everything to gain. You have options. You don’t have to decide anything permanent right now, just leave it all, take a break, and come back to it later. Then you will see how you feel.” She took me for week to Flagstaff to give me a taste of the West - sure I would love the mountains and space. On her advice, I applied for a leave of absence from my job and it was easily granted.
The logistics of leaving felt daunting to me, and DJamil came to my rescue with her unflagging confidence and wisdom. She’s an organizer and offers help to those making life changes. The first thing she did was give me a huge map book of the states. “Here,” she told me, “this is for dreaming. Plan your route.” I looked at her, dumbfounded. “I have no idea!” I protested. “Think of places you would like to see,” she urged. “Mark the map, and then you will have a general direction.” I pored over that map, turning each page. Which way to go? North through Montana? South through Louisiana? Gingerly, I selected a few sites. “I think you like mountains!” DJamil commented when I showed her my first plan. DJamil’s great practicality and business sense got the house rented to five earnest young men, the furniture stored, a budget planned, campgrounds and hostel lists prepared, and, most important of all, a day set for leaving. She even came over that day to give me a needed push out the door!
Something surprising developed while preparing for the trip. A friend introduced me to a special man, and Roscoe and I started dating. We found we had a lot in common, including a willingness to let the relationship develop with no expectations and the future uncertain. He was enthusiastic about my travel plans, and asked if he could come with me for the first two weeks. I was amazed. As it turned out, we continued to date, even over long distances. He would fly out every month or so to wherever I was. The first day, he made me a ‘to-do’ list; it said ‘nothing’!
I spent two months traveling, staying off the interstate for the most part, following smaller roads through town centers and varied landscapes. I camped in the Smokies, visited Graceland, toured an alabaster cave, explored Palo Duro Canyon. When I reached Arizona, I spent a brief time in Flagstaff, found it more expensive and snow-prone than I expected, and headed south to Tucson. Tucson appealed to me. It is surrounded by mountains, has only three high-rise buildings in its downtown, hosts a state university that provides lots of cultural events, and has plenty of hiking opportunities close to town. And, of course, no snow! I found housing easily, and ended up living there for most of the year. I met some nice people, found a great temporary job, and even visited with my sons when they flew out for Christmas.
When it was time to return home, I was so reluctant to leave. I felt my time was not finished, but all my job and home arrangements required that I return. Roscoe joined me, and we made the best of it, finding new routes, stopping to dunk our feet in rivers, keeping our eyes open for unexpected sights. It was very much the end of a vacation, with the adventure over and obligations looming ahead.
When I answered Chris’s question that June night, I recited a list. I was bringing back a love of the rugged Southwest terrain, fascination with petroglyphs, knowledge of how the Sonoran desert smells. I learned how to sleep when I felt uneasy in a campground that was too empty or not empty enough. I had grown unafraid of days with no tasks or schedules. I became familiar with the feeling that comes at not knowing exactly which route I’ll take and when I’ll arrive. I knew I had made a good choice in going on my quest. I was afraid of returning home and losing all I had learned, afraid I would resume my old life just as if I had never left.
Last September, I moved back into my house, collected my furniture, brought up storage boxes from the basement. Thankfully, my son Ernesto moved in with me; it would have been hard to face that space alone. Roscoe lived nearby, so I now had the pleasure of seeing him more regularly. The letter granting me a leave of absence hung in my bedroom the entire year I was away – the tenants never took it down! I filed it away in my scrapbook and returned to work.
Here it is one year later. What happened, and how would I answer Chris’ question now?
Roscoe and I continued to develop our friendship. He shared so much of the journey with me that year I was away, and he shared the re-entry year, too. He loves activity and conversation, he makes me laugh and keeps me hopeful. I didn’t know I could feel as close to another person as I do to him. This month he moved in with me, and we are building a good partnership.
My son continues to live with me, and his girlfriend, Ludgie, has joined us. She brings a lot of warmth and vitality to the house. She tells me that the house feels different from a few years ago, that it used to feel dark and quiet, and now feels colorful and looks beautiful. I still dream of moving, though. I even consulted a realtor last spring, but for now I am willing to let the house hold us for a while longer.
I must have developed some mental space and patience to create, because I was able to do something that I have wanted to do for a long time – take a writing class. The class was this spring at Framingham State. The teacher was excellent, and brought together a dedicated, friendly group of students. We had to write a lot each week, and for the first time in my life, I was able to write complete stories.
I returned to my teaching job, had a successful year, and, when the school year ended, I quit. In truth, in my year away, I had not missed teaching a bit. It requires a tremendous outpouring of energy. I was teaching third grade, and every student needs to be taught with lots of love and attention, as well as skill and observation. I knew from the first week of school that I could not do another year. I couldn’t picture what other work I could do, but as the months went on, a part of me began to insist I not return to teaching.
It turned out to be one of my most difficult years and one of my most rewarding. I resented deeply the extra time I spent evenings and weekends grading and preparing. The long commute felt intolerable. The administration bothered me, with disrespectful attitudes and the way they casually laid extra demands on the teaching staff. On the other hand, I was more relaxed and less worried about failure, so enjoyed my students more. I found new things to be engaged with; I served on some committees I had never tried before, spent time getting to know some teachers I didn’t know well, and presented some standard lessons in an innovative way. We had a new principal, a talented and warm person, and it was a pleasure to have a year to work with him. I was very alert to this year as a final year. I tried to use all my talents, experience, and awareness to create a strong class, and to savor all the daily joys of working with young children. I was very, very glad when the last day of school was over.
The original intent of my journey was to subtract everything – friends, family, duties, house, community, New England – then add back in what was important. What happened was that returning forced me to put everything back into the space whether it fit or not – I returned to my house, my community, my job. I layered on my new partner relationship. I rearranged the house somewhat. Friendships have slowly been picked up again. Now, a year later, the question isn’t just Can I live my life differently? It’s also What commitment to creativity can I make? What kind of conversation can I have with a friend? What does it mean to feel ‘at home’? I think about my teaching career and I feel like it is a work of art that I built over a long period of time, finished, and shipped off to the gallery. I feel at a loss without it. What work will I do next?
Roscoe and I recently went back to New Mexico. We were exploring an area we didn’t know much about, getting a feel for the monsoon season and the northern mountains. One day, on the same day, we discovered two unique people.
At a fork in the road, in a very tiny town, we saw The Old Pink Schoolhouse Art Gallery. It really is an old schoolhouse, with enormous windows, surrounded by acres of sage brush. Inside is the amazing home of the owner, a man who came to the area not knowing what he was going to do next. He found this building, and set up his collection of art, crafts, and antiques and made the gallery into his home. His kitchen, bedroom, and living room are part of the gallery, among all the art. The walls are painted in bold colors and his displays have no order except that he loves all of it. “I am a collage artist,” he told us, “and this home is a collage called ‘My Life’. What impressed me was the way he surrounded himself with what he enjoyed, and invited the public into this intimate space.
Later, we were in one of the area’s hot springs, and struck up a conversation with a fellow soaker. She told us that she had stopped working for pay a year ago to focus on her artwork. She had struggled to keep an apartment and depended on her parents more than she wanted, but she had persisted and started a new line of sculpture. She had just come from an important regional show and was completely astounded that one of her pieces had won first prize. We talked for a long time, submerged up to our necks in warm mineral water and steam, about taking chances, about how we know what is true. I kept thinking that she had spent months not knowing how her art would be judged, and the beauty of the prize was that it encouraged her to continue.
Those two interactions were so vivid to me because of the way those two people expressed publicly, with their time and money and space, what they believed. The journey I went on in 2006-7 was a geographical journey, driving over mountains to the great desert and canyons of the southwest. Now the geography I am located in is very, very familiar and the journey is not a geographic one, but instead involves a journey through daily actions, choosing the ones that reflect what I know, what I believe, what I love.
I feel like I did the day DJamil handed me the book of maps. What’s the route? I don’t know. I do know that it starts by putting dots on places of interest. I want to use words well, to speak honestly, to write stories that make me laugh and help me understand. I admire the way the artist from the hot springs gave herself time to explore. My home feels confining, like it’s someone else’s idea of home. I’d like to see a bolder home, with color and personality, a place that fits me. I respect the way the art collector followed his own rules in making his extravagantly beautiful home. In terms of a job, I have few clear ideas. When I was thinking about which routes to drive on for my trip, I decided early on to stay away from roads I had already been on, and that decision took me to new regions of the country. Somehow, even though it sounds impractical, that feels like the right metaphor for the job search. It’s uncomfortable not knowing quite which way to go. It’s thrilling, too. I am wondering, after I finish this journey, what will I bring home and what will I leave behind?
POETRY - Adelyn Oliver
Tomorrow
Tomorrow … is the day we all wait for
The beginning of the end
Here comes the great war
The world becomes khaki and camoflauge green …
Existence is hidden behind a smoke screen
Employment goes up.
We ALL have a job.
Ha, work a few days … and become a blob
of nothing nowhere!
Alone … in a void, of silence.
But you can’t complain now …
you chose your trade -
to work in the factories
where the guns are made …
And the missiles … and bombs …
and bullets … and all.
For two bits an hour
you earned your call -
to the world beyond all comprehension
No fear. No joy. No sorrow, or tension.
Neither here … nor there …
just suspended … nowhere!
You’ve heard about the war, no doubt,
that will turn all existence inside out.
And then, where will you be?
Stone cold dead baby … just like me
But the moment before I heave my last sigh
I’ll be able to say … I am ready to die!
Being at work … exactly on the dot …
To help the boss get what you ain't got.
If you are truly happy, than that’s ok.
But, if not, don’t waste another day.
Get out ... and fumble about … and move
Yes, fumble I said
Till you find the groove most suitable to you.
If not … you’ll be sorry when life is through.
I won’t … noooooot me!
Adelyn Oliver is one of our grandmothers. She wishes to offer this poem to inspire a new generation of people (no age requirement) who love themselves and their lives.
FEATURE - Tom Sears
The Bears and I
Black bears typically have two cubs, rarely one or three. In 2007, in northern New Hampshire, a black bear sow gave birth to five healthy young. There were two or three reports of sows with as many as four cubs but five was, and is, extraordinary.
I learned of them shortly after they emerged from their den and set myself a goal of photographing all five cubs with their mom, no matter how much time and effort was involved.
I knew the trail they followed on a fairly regular basis, usually shortly before dark. After spending nearly four hours a day, seven days a week, for six weeks I had that once in a lifetime opportunity and photographed them in the shadows and dull lighting of the evening.
Due to these conditions the photograph is a bit "noisy" as I had to use the equivalent of a very fast film speed on my digital camera. The print is properly focused and well exposed with all six bears "posing" as if they were in a studio for a family portrait.
 I stayed in touch with other people who saw the bears during the summer and into the fall hunting season. All six bears continued to thrive.
As time for hibernation approached, I found still more folks who had seen them and everything remained OK. I stayed away from the bears as I was concerned that they might become habituated to me, or to people in general, as approachable "friends". This could be dangerous for both man and animal.
After Halloween I received no further reports and could only hope the bears survived until they hibernated. This spring, before the snow disappeared, all six bears came out of their den and wandered the same familiar territory they trekked in the spring of 2007.
I saw them before mid April and dreamed nightly of taking another "family portrait," an improbable second "once in a lifetime" photograph.
On April 25, 2008 I achieved my dream. When I showed the result to a woman who had purchased a print of the cubs a year earlier she exclaimed, "I have never seen such an extraordinary photograph".
When something as magical as this happens between man and animal Native Americans say: "We have walked together in the shadow of a rainbow."
And so it is with humility and great pleasure that I share these photos with you.
Sincerely,
Tom Sears
www.digitalphotography.us
PS. As of today, August 22, 2008, the cubs are doing well but have gone their separate ways and there will not be another "family portrait".
VIDEO LINK - Historia de Un Letrero (The Story of a Sign)
This video won the short
film (5 minutes) award at Cannes!
The English subtitles are abundant in the end, but to get you started,
Thank you to Juliet Nightingale, my mum and greatest inspiration, for passing this along. www.TowardTheLight.org
TRANSITION - farewell Bean Downs
Bean Downs was one of those genuinely good people. She said what she meant, and she did what she said. She was well known for her great hugs and her compassion toward others. She could always be counted on to be present and was steady in troubled waters. She was a great dancer and always accepted you just the way you are.
Bean had lived in the same apartment for nearly 20 years. While having a casual conversation with her a couple years ago, she said to me half teasing, ‘I’ll move over my dead body.’ Well, as I mentioned, she said what she meant. She had to move, due to the owners selling the property. She had picked out a new place and was getting excited for the transition. While she was wrapping a picture of a Hopi Grandmother, she passed out and transitioned. She had no pre-existing medical conditions, she just left. There were no signs of distress on her face. She was complete in her earth-walk.
Of course, that was easier for her than her family and friends. Still, the show must go on. And, that is what Tita was doing when she took this picture (top banner). Tita and Bean, for many years, facilitated the New Moon Sunrise Celebrations according to the planting cycles, as taught by the Sunray Meditation practice. This picture was taken on 3 August, 2008, shortly after Bean had transitioned. Tita bravely went out all by herself and held the form of the Green Corn Celebration, perhaps shed a few tears, and snapped this photo. When she saw the picture, it surprised her. It wasn’t what she remembered seeing.
When I saw this picture I immediately saw Bean. I was, and am still awed. The first thing that caught my eye was the circle that is created with the line of the sun around the clouds and the reflection in the water. It’s a vortex of energy, a place where beings travel easily between the dimensions. After gazing at this I noticed in the lower right hand side, in the dark of the water in the reflection is a little round orb of light just hanging out there. That, I dare say, is Bean in her transcended spirit form--being close to Tita--on this special day where she could no longer be in her physical body. She’s really beautiful… What a gift to behold her in her new form, and to see that death is in fact a transition, not an eternal state. The reservoir is such a relevant metaphor. It is a place inside our minds where we, too, can go to connect with other dimensions--both inside of ourselves and other dimensional beings as well. I have known that spirits will sometimes allow themselves to be caught on film. I have a few recent pictures from Barcelona that reveal the same thing. Thank you, Bean, for sharing yourself with me.
My love and sympathy go out to all of Bean's family and friends who are grieving at this time. Rest in peace, Bean, and fly on forever beautiful spirit that you are! You will be missed…
If you would like to participate in the upcoming New Moon Planting Celebrations at the Brookline Resevoir in Brookline, MA (USA), please ring Tita at 617.524.6593. All are welcome!
*Special thanks to all of the Sunray people who shared their stories and love for Bean with me this past Sunday at the Ripe Corn Celebration.
What A Relief!
Helping People Help Themselves...
Mind Your Mind Coaching
What Movie is your mind playing right now?
Cell 617.359.7323
In Closing...
Wow! This was fun and I now know why people hire technicians. I'm still working on getting this out in Spanish too.
Thank you again to the contributors and to you readers as well! Feel free to share your feedback so I can continue to improve this publication. You make it all worthwhile.
Also, if you would like to share a story et al for the next edition, I'd love to hear from you.
Never Give Up!
DJamil Graham
Cell 617.359.7323
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