A Way to Free the Heart

Standing at the mouth of a cave, a black place where you are unable to see, unsure what waits inside as you journey into the dark, what do you do? What scares you in that moment?

What would happen if you had no fear? You can have no fear. Hold this thought firm in your mind, then begin your walk there and see.

To fear or not to fear

Self-Portrait with Death Playing the Fiddle. Arnold Böcklin (1872)

On a recent hike, I rounded a corner with dense trees to find a very large cave or perhaps an old mine—two times my height and maybe 100 feet deep, the day's light reached inside just enough that I could see a drop straight down into ink black. Nearby was a large flat rock, with geodes and crystals stacked upon it and I wondered if these came from the deep. I also wondered what made their finders decide to leave them there instead of taking them home as a prize. I stood a little distance away and felt fear rush over me, of nothing in particular at first except the unknown. The thought of going into this cave made me want to run fast and far back down the mountain away from it, for what if in the next second something large came out and took me in and down with it... my mind sometimes likes to go to the largest terror it can imagine and then play there with it. I began to dislike the cave and the power it had taken over the ways I was moving.

I am ever learning, and practicing, that when these feelings of fear arise, I do not have to run away from what is causing them. That is giving away your power to another force, where something you fear is controlling you, your spirit, your free will, your heart. I think we do not have to let this happen.

Down into the cave

I sat down in front of the cave. I sat in front of this giant hole in the earth, where I could see to the back as it dropped who knows how deep, and wondered Why I am afraid of this dearth? Is it the unknown depth? Is it the way I feel compelled to jump into the hole—an invading imp of the perverse. Is it the irrational fear of some force pulling me down into it? Perhaps it's the simple explanation that it looks ready to cave in at any second, building up for the cataclysmic moment since it was dug. Maybe it is all of these reasons.

In sitting there ruminating on the questions, I realized a very important thing: the source of the fear, the cave, no longer scared me. I still had no desire to enter it, but I did not feel a resentment for a lack of ability to do so—it was a calm knowing that I could now if I wanted. There were no binding feelings. I had achieved freedom. The simple act of sitting there with the fear instead of reacting gave my mind time to realize what my heart knew: I, my heart, my free will, my spirit, I am stronger than my mind and the things it faces.

Forward to the light

This is a small example, and I was quick to come to the conclusion I was not going to be afraid of a cave in the woods. Most cases in life are far more complex and to navigate the maze is a lengthier process, but I believe the lesson is the same. As you sit with fear and understand it instead of run away from it, you move through it and toward the freeing of your heart.

Isn’t this a major human dilemma: we are always, in everything we do, striving to reach our own state we imagine for our content heart—at points, we find fear is the ultimate enslaver of this most desired self. And it can be strong. The secret, I have found, is that we are always more powerful over it, if we believe ourselves to be. 

I have applied this to many things in my life prior to the cave, and others I am still working through; some have been lifelong, some common, others esoteric. I know that when I put work in toward combatting, accepting, embracing, moving through dark and fear, I am met every single time with light—with a happier heart, for I find myself freed, yet again. That's not to say the process isn't painful at times, or scary in itself. It can be met with unexpected trials and hardships, or go much differently than planned... but through this I persevere. I am confident that I am moving toward something good instead of something bad, and so I remain steady on the path. I've learned this thoroughly enough to be ever braver in my steps through life, where it turns out change is most often a joy.

And onward

I look at all of it as sort of an initiation, this process from dark to light shedding fears, onward to walking to our bliss, Eden, true happiness, pure love. It is possible to find it, but we must work and earn our way there by moving in ways that are brave and true, in whichever ways that means to us—to our hearts. 
 

Deserts Are Not Empty

“A man said to the Universe:
’Sir, I exist!’
’However,’ replied the Universe,
’The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation.’”

— Stephen Crane

Owens Valley, through the Sierra on the way down to Death Valley

Dear Indifferent Universe,

You know that I am intrigued by coincidences, and also that I am a problem solver. You've probably noticed the satisfaction I feel in that bright moment when connections happen, when things make sense. The connecting of dots stirs within me an almost primordial sense of joy. That is to say: it runs very deep. Through the life of a problem, question, or exploration, my mind holds a timeline from the beginning and it adds thumbtacks to hold clues when they emerge along the way. An elephant never forgets.

In this journey of creating jewelry (because it is something more than putting beads on a string, but that's another chapter in this story), a timeline has formed. The beginning swirls around those moments as a very small child when I would go and dig for shiny rocks in the dirt around my home. My parents, sister, and I spent many summer days looking for fossilized shark teeth and whale bone in the cliffs of the nearby riverbank. I remember the elation over a pile of gravel that was to be used for fancying up our driveway, but only so I could dig amongst all the gray stones for the few pieces of quartz that lie hidden inside.

My father and I on the Irish Sea, hounding the beach in Bray, 2014

I have always been intrigued by stones and crystals. I may have looked normal going about my childhood, but I frequently wondered about things that, had I voiced them, were probably quite odd. I would wonder as I sat on a playground: What sort of shiny rocks are in the earth, under my feet, at this very moment? I would imagine them in their foreign textures and colors. I dreamed of being an archaeologist. Now that I spend time with stones unearthed by someone else, I suppose that is the next best thing.

Later on the timeline is a moment when I first traveled through the Mojave desert. A quick survey of the landscape painted a story of desolation. I saw myriad hues of brown with endless bare mountains and immense, empty, valleys. I wanted to get out of the car and feel the sun on my skin so I parked it next to a dune covered in rocks and cactus. As I sat in the dusty earth, I took note of the things lying around me. I became mesmerized by all of the colors within the rocks—they were purple, blue like the sky and turquoise as the sea, brown was flecked with gold and fiery orange. These colors were all muted, the rocks sitting in the sun and taking many windy sand scrubs over time—but they were all there. My lifelong mantra arose in my mind: What else lies inside the earth? I made a huge heart out of rocks on the side of the road for passersby and continued on my way.

The descent into the valley; cacti in Palm Springs

A new moment on the timeline has emerged. I've learned of other people who enjoy digging for rocks, and in the Mojave no less. I am not a geologist and I do not pretend to know each location around the world where various rocks are found. To learn that some of my favorites are under all of that sand, here in California—a land I hold so dear—leads me to see dots being connected. Joy.

The Mojave palette of colors

Universe, I would like the opportunity to explore that land with a fellow rockhound or two. I need a guide as I have no idea where to begin, and cacti are not always the best conversationalists (though they do have their moments). I want to go treasure hunting in the most primitive sense!

Yours truly,
Christi

Ancient Mediterranean

I have a daily ritual of laying in the sun for ten minutes. During these ten minutes, I allow my mind a break from the day. I begin by releasing hold of anything that stresses me, and for whatever arises, I tuck it away to worry about later. As I breathe out, I send the worry away. That is how these ten minutes begin. As unwanted thoughts disappear, I replenish that space with an image of something that is beautiful to my mind—a meadow with spring flowers, a long warm beach, a damp redwood forest. I walk through these places and try to see how deeply I can experience them with only my imagination.

Maybe I'm weird.

1- Flickr, 2- Unknown, 3- Unknown

But! It's pretty relaxing, and as I practice this daily, I find it becomes easier to hop over to these places in times that may be a bit less peaceful. Living in a city where there is traffic, many people, and a fair bit of perpetual chaos, it's nice to have some source for a reprieve. It's a way I practice patience.

As I lay in the sun today there was a breeze, and I caught the scent of our coastal trees. The aroma is deeply green, of sea fog and bay, cypress, and pine trees—with slight twists of citrus and sage. I have not been to the Mediterranean but we have a similar climate in this part of northern California, so my mind began walking around a coast in Greece.

Here I felt the midday sun, it warmed the dirt on stones of ancient ruins as I grazed my hand on them. I imagined the people who built these mathematically perfect columns and decided to top them with spirals and stone garlands of flowers. Did they notice the breeze as they labored, by hand and for years, to complete this architecture? Did they notice the way stones warmed from the sun feel alive? Did they walk down to the water and wonder about waves?

1- Unknown, 2- Flickr, 3- Met

Having a slight interest in jewelry, I tried to see what they wore. I discovered organic shapes formed by ancient hands still learning the alchemy of metals. There were stones, obtained by way of long dusty trade roads from India and Africa—how many stories they must have told of camel rides, gem traders, and landscapes along the way.

I became inspired by these thoughts; ideas for jewels and writing and art ran wild. The creative spirit was illuminated, a ten minutes in the sun well spent.

Sea Fever

“I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.”

— John Masefield

Santa Cruz, California

I woke up this morning with the first line of this poem running through my head, as if it began while I was still asleep. I did dream of the sea. I'm in a place in my life where I feel a continual need to cleanse. No, I do not take extra showers (we are in a major drought after all). I mean a cleanse of my spirit, a clean slate, tabula rasa as I learned for my first phrase in my first Latin class years ago. There is this urge—coming from where I know not—to purge, make room, get ready. I also do not know what I am to be making room for but I welcome its coming. Like the still sea before the next wave, I welcome the impending deluge. 
 

Sui Generis

sui generis
Latin, of its own kind

People often say of a creative work that moves them in some way: "It speaks to me."

I've always been a fan of J.W. Waterhouse's work but could not quite articulate what I loved so deeply about it. Why do I love this so much, I always asked myself, Why do these paintings seem to be—through their strokes of light and leaves and mysterious girls—whispering for me to Remember?" It's an odd sensation, comforting and unnerving. 

For years I've had a book of his paintings that I hold most dear, an attachment that made me always keep it close. Each page with a painting is a venture into another world lasting as long as I gaze upon it. My thoughts take the form of jumbled poems as my mind lets my spirit try to describe what it is seeing.

His work is indeed of its own kind. Synonyms for this phrase include alone, solitary, and unique. These are words that I've always felt closest to, they wrap me like a blanket under a winter's full moon sky. They are my home. Mr. Waterhouse's paintings do the same, the subjects, the colors, the way he painted light, they all wrap around me. Looking into their scenes, I feel they will show me, or speak to me perhaps, of whatever it is I have forgotten.

Thisbe, John William Waterhouse
Also known as 'The Listener'