I took this "Life will not be denied" photo last night while in one of my favorite places... that had a fire in late May. Life is returning now.
I misplaced my phone this morning for the eighty bajillionth
time in the last few days. This is upsetting only because I took some great
photos last night as I chased the sunset and I want to finish uploading them.
I have actually been enjoying taking photos again and I want
to continue cultivating that love by using the photos I take. Last night’s
chasing the sunset episode was a practice I started years ago and it usually
disappears when I am not in the greatest emotional spaces which is exactly when
it should be a heightened priority.
The thing is, when I live inside a deepening depression, I
have a tendency to not notice it and basically not notice much. There are bits
of the happier version of me that leak out, but usually the “real me” is
underground, buried by a morasse of apathy I can’t even recognize.
Last night I slept for nearly eleven hours, which normally I
would take as a sign of deepening depression but in this case I see last night’s
sleep as a time of healing. I have been sleeping shallowly because I have had
stress and nervousness so close to the surface I couldn’t get a good sleep.
So for now I am celebrating my own Sleeping Beauty slow
reawakening.
Hey, the fact I referred to my experience as a sleeping
beauty is another positive.
If it wasn’t so hot right now I would say the sun is shining
again.
Instead, I’ll say… I’m feeling better, inch by inch by shiny
happy-tear stretched inch.
# # # # #
This was my 5 minute Stream of Consciousness Sunday post. It’s
five minutes of your time and a
brain dump. Want to try it? Here are the
rules…
Set a timer and write for 5 minutes.
Write an intro to the post if you want but don’t edit the post. No proofreading or spellchecking. This is writing in the raw.
Publish it somewhere. Anywhere. The back door to your blog if you want. But make it accessible.
At the Entry of Colonel Allensworth State Historic Park: Let's Keep Gems Like This ALIVE!
We – as the human community - need to learn
about places where community and connection were or are paramount so that we may continue to live in a world with community and connection. Our is world
filled with people isolating themselves with too many people with earphones stuck
in our ears to separate us or cell phone conversations as we take a walk in
nature or just holing up behind Netflix or the pages of an escapist novel.
These
activities aren’t bad like nothing is bad in moderation. Please don’t
misunderstand what I am saying.
Our
children need to know of these places not only to learn about what was, but to
feel the spark of inspiration still burning in these places.
It happened to me yesterday when I set out to
visit a place I had thought of going but had never made it to in the past.
Yesterday was different.
The small sign told me I had almost arrived at
Colonel Allensworth State Historic Park with an arrow pointing across the railroad
tracks. “Out here?” I thought. “There is nothing here.”I expected lots of visitors.
From my perspective, this was a more important
place than it appeared. It is close to both Delano and Tulare, not huge places, and a smattering of tiny towns such as Earlimart, it didn't make sense to be so deserted.
Johnson's Bakery - 100 Years ago, a Woman Owned Business. Brava!
Then I saw the small, green clapboard house. I
stepped out of my car and immediately fell deeply into fascination. I was in my
own little world until a not-so-new sedan pulled up and a tall, older gentleman
got out of the car.
His name was George.
It was pure coincidence that we both arrived at
nearly the same time. I was walking away from the first spot on the tour when
George pulled in.
I am not one to know a stranger, so it is
completely normal that I called out, “hello!” as he got out of his car. “Have
you been here before?” I asked him.
“No, I have not,” was his soft voiced answer. He
spoke slowly, with intention upon each word. “We didn’t learn this history when
I was in school. No, ma’am.”
“I just wish there were more people here,” I said.
“People need to know all sides of history. These stories need to be told.”
We commiserated a bit about what we didn’t learn
when we were children. I found out George was from Fresno, recently retired,
and now had the time to discover and explore and come to know what we both would
declare exceptionally important. He taught me about the Buffalo Soldiers and an
event soon to come to nearby Sequoia National Park.
By calling this number, (you can click to have the photo get larger) I learned about Johnson's Bakery. Later, I called it with a friend. You can call it from your home, too.
I told him what I had learned, "This building here was a bakery as well as a home. Mrs. Johnson ran the place when her husband left town. This was a woman owned business so many years ago! Isn't that fantastic?"
The smiles on our faces were kept alive by our
mutual enthusiasm. We were both here at this place – seemingly deserted – that
was once a thriving community settled by what was called “race
pioneers, with its commitment to limiting the parameters of prejudice, served
as a beacon of hope to blacks in the Golden State and across the nation. The
community, Allensworth, belied the notion of African-American inferiority and,
in so doing, generated excitement, hope and confidence,” wrote B. Gordon
Wheeler in Wild West Magazine.
I had a few free hours and was closer than I had
ever been to Colonel Allensworth State Historical Park. I had no idea what to
expect. Since I love history, especially history that is overlooked by so many
for so long, it was one of those places I knew I should have visited long ago.
I had seen the sign off the freeway, but since it is in a location I am
normally only driving through, it never seemed important enough to me to stop.
Today was different.
It felt so vacant at Allensworth, so dry and prickly, as many Central Valley open fields feel. The sun was so bright I had to shade my eyes to see what was around me. Clapboard buildings, primarily. I noticed a few crape myrtle trees. Some barns scattered about.
I felt something else. I felt connection, invisible and perhaps the echoes or shadows of the connection that once thrived there.
I am so grateful I stopped, I stepped inside, I
listened to the stories and I pledge to return, with friends. With children,
students and friends of friends of friends and others.
It is so important we visit places, preserve
memories and share those places with others.
What is an interesting, out of the way place you
will pledge to visit this Summer?
This photo was taken at Emily Dickinson's home. All history is important.....
Weedpatch, California - Hospital Screen Window, aged + Cemetery monument close to the home of W.E.B. Dubois.
Lately I have been experimenting with taking my photos and
layering them, taking moments in time from one place I have visited and
layering it with another, much like how memory of the past and the experience
of the present sit on top of one another rather than side-by-side.
What do you think: are your memories inside you, tower like
with one upon the other or are they linear, like a path from birth to now to
death? Maybe you think of it differently.
The image here tends more toward the layers.
My favorite image from this week is one of those examples of
layers, both from the same month but from very different places.
Where is the connection? Where does the story of the people of Weedpatch - primarily refugees resettling in the agricultural lands in California from Oklahoma and Arkansas during the Dustbowl era - meet the story of the people of the Berkshires, buried in this idyllic cemetery there?
Where does your story meet up with these two seemingly opposing places a continent apart?
One of my creative tasks today is to live those questions - so throughout the day I will allow this curiosity to seep into the rest of my life. I will give room for my subconscious to play with the images so that I may focus on other things. I will write again tonight and see what comes and then write again tomorrow morning and see what appears.
Please join me either with these images or with your own.
This is me, writing at Dagny’s last Friday morning. I was
rewarding myself for a productive time at the keyboard by the time 8:30 am
rolled around I had published two blog posts, done research and got the kids
successfully off to school. Kimberly and I had discussed meeting at this, my
favorite spot, as a reward.
She was thinking just a time of friendly conversation. I was
thinking of it as a reward.
You can see what I do there: I pile up books and notebooks
and read snatches of essays and poems. I sketch, I practice writing, I sip tea or
coffee and on this occasion, I used the lure of that slab of cinnamon coffee
cake to insure my focus stayed in place for a respectable amount of time.
I was deep in creative mode when Kimberly appeared in front
of me, bearing a teapot filled with roses from her garden. I think I said,
“You’re here!” and I know my face did that wide eyed, lit up face when I saw
her happily approach with her nature goodies. “I’m so glad you made it!”
She could only stay briefly, which I knew, but it is like
those snippets of time with friends are worth huge swaths of time with
acquaintences or people who just don’t live on the same wavelength as you do.
I was back in deep contemplative mode when I heard someone tapping on the
window. The girls eating at the tables on the sidewalk were pointing to
Kimberly, who had her camera focused on me. She was pantomiming “write!” and
when I finally got what she wanted, I started to write.
I dipped my toe back into the language stream and joy came
out the other side.
It has lasted almost forty-eight hours now.
Alice Walker was with me as was Virginia Woolf and Natalie
Goldberg popped into my sanctuary as well. I listened to a doula talking to a
not-showing-yet pregnant couple. I watched the usual eclectic gang gather
outside so they could smoke and socialize as well as drink coffee or tea or as
the day marches forward, beer or wine.
I waved goodbye to Kimberly and smiled back into my words.
This is me, writing. And now that is YOU, creating. Take a deep breath and create for five minutes. Paint, sketch, write, meditate, call a beloved on the telephone, collage, sing, clap your hands, drum, gaze into the eyes of your cat.
What do you feel in your belly when you hear the word “opportunity”?
I confess, I think about friends in the past attempting to
induce me into one or another network marketing business. Sometimes the opportunities were worthwhile
for me, otherwise we just didn’t match up at all.
Unfortunately the residue of “not matching” tends to rumble
in my belly when I first hear this word which is actually, quite a favorable
word. It is even in the top 1% of words looked up at Merriam-Webster.com.
Apparently a lot of us want to figure out their relationship
with opportunity.
This is a natural time of year to interact with it as we
reflect upon what was and step into what is yet to be. We do know one thing: opportunities
will show up. They may show up in strange disguises though so we don’t
necessarily recognize them when they tap our shoulder or ring our front
doorbell.
This morning I played with the word opportunity and
opportunities. Playing with words is one of the ways I get closer to its
meaning, I come to know it better, just like as children playing with the
neighborhood kids helped us to get to know one another – as well as ourselves –
even better.
I started with just the word: Opportunities.
And then I added to it:
Opportunities are.
And added some more:
Opportunities are risky.
And then, this burst out:
Opportunities are risky invitations to move beyond the
current parameters of life. Opportunities lead to “I did it, I did it, I did
it!”
I played with images, one of which is at the top of this
blog post and along with that image I placed the Merriam-Webster definition
which I love for so many reasons:
a favorable juncture of
circumstances
a good chance for
advancement or progress
The first one sounds so British. I can hear a male voice,
sort of mid-range, speaking it aloud and it makes me melt, just like that. Isn’t
that wonderful?
Are you ready to play with me in the Land of Opportunities?
How about are you ready to play with me in the Land of YOUR
opportunities?
Let’s take a stroll through the land of opportunity.
There, ahead, I see quite a favorable juncture!
Get better acquainted with the word, in either the same way
I did or perhaps using other creative tools. Grab markers or crayons and make
it decorative. See if you have any belly upset attached to it so that you may
erase it away and once again, become enamored with YOUR adventures in
opportunity which are right around the corner.
I’ll be back later today with more of my own play to inspire
and as a way to walk alongside you.
“Imitate the trees. Learn to lose in order to recover, and remember that nothing stays the same for
long, not even pain, psychic pain. Sit it out. Let it all pass. Let it go. ”
May Sarton
I have a girl crush on May Sarton. Many of her words remind me so much of mine.
I can imagine myself sitting with her sipping coffee or wine and chatting but being too embarrassed about my… well, not nearly as wise as her….to say much of anything.
I imagine sitting with May: the fire is shouting her cracks and giggling with us, the smell of applesauce cooking fills the air and I even notice a cat wandering around purring and finally sitting in a windowsill to watch the birds fly past or nibble on seeds May had put in the bird feeder that morning.
On one of my New England trips I visited the far-out-of-the-way hamlet where she bought her house and is now buried, Nelson, New Hampshire. Many people within forty minutes of this town don’t even know it exists.
I loved it because as we drove, people waved on the sidewalk-free streets, smiling, assuming the only people who visit here are those who belong here.
I like to think I did and do belong there.
I imagine after a few moments of just being together and enjoying the scene around me, I would talk to May about my recent cancer surgery for melanoma and my ongoing recovery.
I am closing in on four weeks since my surgery to remove my melanoma (I call her Nora.)
. I never gave much thought as to what my scar would look like or how my face would feel or how long the pain would last. I just knew it was going to happen and I would recover.
I am still recovering. My wound is better in most places but there is – at the core of where the cancer was – a lack of healing. I have learned how to sport a fabulous scarf and also how to trim the sticky edges off large sized band-aids so the tape doesn’t get in my eyes or tug on the outer edges of the heart shaped stitches.
I still cry randomly.
Yesterday I was driving and I brushed something off my face and realized, once again, there was no fine feeling in my right cheek. I could feel a slightly pressure, but it was almost like my fingers were brushing something off someone else’s skin. Or actually, like fingers brushing something off a mannequin.
The skin just doesn’t feel real.
So I cried. And it is ok. I don’t cover up in front of my children, either. Emma has adopted the question I ask her, “Do you want to talk about it?”
When I shake my head no, she doesn’t push. When I start to speak thirty minutes later, she listens.
May asks me the ways I have learned to imitate the trees I cherish.
1. I have learned to grant myself permission to sit things out I would normally attend. Stay rooted
at home and the homes of people who love me.
2. I have learned to take time to rest. Lots of it. A season of it, even. Staying home, cocooning, doing more home based tasks is a good thing.
3. I have learned how to request help as an art form instead of something to be embarrassed about doing. You can’t reach the limbs you need to trim to stay healthy.
4. It is ok to be cranky. Really. Even if it looks like the cranky mood has no apparent cause, just let it out. It will feel better. Drop your leaves when you need to drop your leaves. So what's the big deal, someone else - with legs rather than roots - has to rake them up! Wait for them to teach themselves ways to love it.
5. People will come out of the woodworks to help if they know you need it. Raking, weeding, forging trails, watering you when you need it. On the other side, those who don’t know what to do or how to help love you, too, they just feel awkward. Be sure to make that completely fine, too.
I am still learning to sit like a tree as May advises me. I still need to buy a hat with flaps that cover my cheek so I will be comfortable going out during the day to some of my beloved nature spots.
Julie Jordan Scott
has been a Life & Creativity Coach, Writer, Facilitator
and Teleclass Leader since 1999. She is also an award
winning Actor, Director, Artist and Mother
Extraordinaire. She was twice the StoryTelling Slam
champion in Bakersfield. She leads Writing Camp with JJS &
this Summer will be traveling throughout the US to bring this
unique, fun filled creative experience to the people wherever she
finds the passion & the interest.
Did you enjoyed this essay? Receive emails directly to your
inbox for Free from Julie Jordan Scott via the
Daily Passion Activator. One inspirational essay and
poem (almost) every week day. Subscribe here now -
I chose to put myself into the boy’s skin. I have always
felt God’s presence in the ocean. I was blessed because I went to high school
only a mile or so from the beach so I spent a lot of time with the ocean. To
me, it is an extension or “physical form” God takes to comfort me, if that
makes any sense.
I also write this in the context of being without a church
right now and missing worship very much. The church I went to before made some
choices I could not stand alongside, so now, I feel on the outside of a church
family. Seeing how much I love community worship and being of service via other
people in a “body of Christ” for lack of other terminology, this has been a
rough period for me.
I do, however, still have a great relationship with God.
Sometimes he speaks loudest to me via nature. In this case, he came to me,
again, via this photo of a little boy at the beach.
I need to hear you, God.
I need to know there is a reason.
You know, a reason for all this.
All the stuff I don’t know what to do with, God.
Do you know what to do with it?
I’m feeling more and more confused lately.
I want to help others but I feel like
I can barely help myself.
If I was to climb into your ocean,
I am afraid I would be swept away.
One thing I know is being swept away is not the solution.
Julie Jordan Scott
has been a Life & Creativity Coach, Writer, Facilitator
and Teleclass Leader since 1999. She is also an award
winning Actor, Director, Artist and Mother
Extraordinaire. She was twice the StoryTelling Slam
champion in Bakersfield. She leads Writing Camp with JJS &
this Summer will be traveling throughout the US to bring this
unique, fun filled creative experience to the people wherever she
finds the passion & the interest.
Did you enjoyed this essay? Receive emails directly to your
inbox for Free from Julie Jordan Scott via the
Daily Passion Activator. One inspirational essay and
poem (almost) every week day. Subscribe here now -
I visited John Muir’s home in 2009. It was awe-opening. I could literally feel his presence there. I stood across from the desk where he wrote all his books. It buzzed.
He had such a passion for wilderness. I do, too.
When I was on vacation recently, I got an annual pass to any and all US National Parks. What does this mean? I will be visiting as many as possible. On Vacation I visited Zion, The Arches, and Mesa Verde. I live relatively close to Sequoia and Yosemite. Once kids are back in school I will go to both of them and in October there is a cool program at Zion I want to attend.
It is so cool how the National Parks weave eco-friendly practices into the park culture.
They made ME think and helped me change my practice with water bottles. No more bottled water, on with reusable bottles I can add filtered water to instead. Over and over and over again.
It seems the generation beneath me has so much gusto for all things eco-friendly. Grateful to move beyond consumerism to environmental awareness.
Julie Jordan Scott has been a Life & Creativity Coach, Writer, Facilitator and Teleclass Leader since 1999. She is also an award winning Actor, Director, Artist and Mother Extraordinaire. She was twice the StoryTelling Slam champion in Bakersfield. She leads Writing Camp with JJS & this Summer will be traveling throughout the US to bring this unique, fun filled creative experience to the people wherever she finds the passion & the interest.
Did you enjoyed this essay? Receive emails directly to your inbox for Free from Julie Jordan Scott via the Daily Passion Activator. One inspirational essay and poem (almost) every week day. Subscribe here now -
Last week we started our road trip in Houck, Arizona: a town on the edge of the Navajo Nation where my eldest daughter Katherine helped work on houses all Summer Long. She came back to me quite capable with many tools I have no clue how to use.
She also still has blue house paint in her hair.
The other skill she has that I wish I had was a belief in herself as capable with power tools.
For whatever reason, I have bought into the “Real Women Don’t Use Power Tools, We Delegate that to Big Strong Handsome Mans Who Do Our Bidding.”
No more.
I want to use those power tools, too. I did use a sander this winter before painting in my living room, but I want to learn more. I want to build stuff, I want to repair stuff, I want to feel capable instead of unable. I want to feel confident of my ability to learn instead of thinking “oh, I could never do that.”
Julie Jordan Scott has been a Life & Creativity Coach, Writer, Facilitator and Teleclass Leader since 1999. She is also an award winning Actor, Director, Artist and Mother Extraordinaire. She was twice the StoryTelling Slam champion in Bakersfield. She leads Writing Camp with JJS & this Summer will be traveling throughout the US to bring this unique, fun filled creative experience to the people wherever she finds the passion & the interest.
Did you enjoyed this essay? Receive emails directly to your inbox for Free from Julie Jordan Scott via the Daily Passion Activator. One inspirational essay and poem (almost) every week day. Subscribe here now -
I talked about it last week with Chrissi, actually.
Chrissi was one of my recent couchsurfing guests and we were hiking together at Trail of 100 Giants at the Sequoia National Forest. I said something about how Americans always seem to insist on big goofy grins in their photos. “One of my French exchange students back, oh, fifteen years ago, commented on this. She was right. But I think now, it has changed. With digital photography, people seem to have calmed down the need for the whole “chhheeeeeeze!” pose constantly.”
My Mother had a favorite photo of me when I was a little girl. I haven’t seen it in years, but I can still see myself in it. I am sitting on a bench at Turtleback Zoo. I sat with my hair in braids, as always, a blue gingham sleeveless shirt, my hands on either side of my frame. I was probably waiting as I sat on the bench. I was eight years old, looking straight ahead of my view but you can only see my profile in the photo. I had no idea my photo was being taken or I would have hidden the question living in my face, my heart, my spirit.
This morning I was inspired by my friend Paula D’Andrea to focus on a song today. Well, Paula is always focused on Rockin' Life! but when my breakfast was accompanied by Jackson Browne on the Muzak, I laughed quietly at first and then thought, “This is not a song you hear often.”
By the time I got home, I felt the song was an assignment of sorts.
The first two stanzas:
Looking through some photographs I found inside a drawer I was taken by a photograph of you There were one or two I know that you would have liked a little more But they didn't show your spirit quite as true
You were turning 'round to see who was behind you And I took your childish laughter by surprise And at the moment that my camera happened to find you There was just a trace of sorrow in your eyes
I feel a call today to study images of my own authenticity, to put those on display, to not concern myself with conventional norms like ugly or pretty or middle aged or out of shape or embarrassed, but instead focus on showing you my true spirit: unmasked, unafraid and non judgemental.
Cameron has told me my face is one of the most changeable he has encountered. I can look so different on any given day. Sometimes I think that is from being an actor but then, upon thinking, I think it is from being true. My face shows my emotions in that precise moment.
My emotions are worn differently on my face. I think they are authentic. Some of these photos I look prettier or more “conventionally acceptable” than others. What I love about them all is they are all perfectly 1,000% me.
This Spring I sat on a hill overlooking Bakersfield, one of my favorite spots in the world. My friend mentioned me and the words “deliriously happy” in the same sentence.
“I wouldn’t describe myself as happy.”
This photo was taken of me on that day
I wasn’t sure what prompted me to say this, but it is true.
I love and hate this photo. He used to capture fantastic photos of me, true photos of me. I am praying in this photo, perhaps trying to block out the lack of the love I used to feel and an attempt at being content with the love that remains.
It is truly me, even with the spot on my cheek waiting to be checked out by my doctor, the eyebrows that need reshaping, and my hair that was way too blonde for a while.
I am beyond happy. I don’t see happy as better than sad or maudlin as worse than blissful.
Authentic emotions, in the moment. That’s what I want to wear on my face.
This is me in the beginning of October, 2011. It is a very clear portrayal of precisely how I was feeling in that moment. I was in Westwood with my friend, Cameron. I asked him to take the shot and he just clicked away as I stood and "felt" - it is significant as a model (even if the only audience is you) to just be with what you are feeling instead of playing fashion model with the photographer choreographing the whole thing. If your intent is for a specific purpose other than catching your own authenticity, that is a whole different experience.
This photo was taken in September 2008, by my friend, Todd Powers with
Foxglove Photography. We did a session that night with these wonders of nature I had collected on a walk while I was working on a collection of poetry and essays called “Last Years Leaves.” I wish this photo shoot had an element of smell. It was soooooo heavenly with overripe and weathered, hungry leaves.
What I love is Todd gives me space to just experience and he just clicks. See how intent I am on the berries? I am not even thinking Todd is taking photos me me, I am clearly in the moment, a little sad, a little curious, a little hopeful, a little grounded, a little wishing I could float up and out of where I was.
This is Emma in Alice in Wonderland this November at her first High School play. She is an extension of me, always will be, and in this photo she reminds me so much of myself I decided to include it. She had a pretty miserable time during this process. This shot has the quality it does because I had to crop her out of a group but I love what her face says. “I am trying, I am here, I am successful because in my trying, I am doing, no matter how awkward or sad or lonely I am, I am here, on stage and in life, I am giving my all.”
My final photo for today is a self portrait I took. It was a part of my Soul Grief series. There was a time when I cried for 142 days in a row. I consciously created this because when I cried, I remembered, "I have no crying photos. Shoot this, now."
I wasn't faking these tears, I was feeling them.
I laugh now when I see women whose faces have been frozen in place by a variety of procedures so they can keep their skin smooth no matter what they are feeling. I would rather look conventionally ugly than falsely, conventionally beautiful.
Ironically, the second photo here - the one with my eyes open - is one of my favorite photos of myself looking, in my opinion, beautiful.
Don't you love photos like Emma's that say, "“I am trying, I am here, I am successful because in my trying, I am doing, no matter how awkward or sad or lonely I am, I am here, on stage and in life, I am giving my all.”
What more could life ask?
In the old days, I would plaster on my happy mask and move through my day, smiling no matter what. My mother even noted in my baby book, “Julie even smiles through her tears.” As a baby I had this life skill. As a baby I had this life skill.
It is a skill I no longer use. I am grateful for that.
Julie Jordan Scott has been a Life & Creativity Coach, Writer, Facilitator and Teleclass Leader since 1999. She is also an award winning Actor, Director, Artist and Mother Extraordinaire. She was twice the StoryTelling Slam champion in Bakersfield. She leads Writing Camp with JJS & this Summer will be traveling throughout the US to bring this unique, fun filled creative experience to the people wherever she finds the passion & the interest.
Did you enjoyed this essay? Receive emails directly to your inbox for Free from Julie Jordan Scott via the Daily Passion Activator. One inspirational essay and poem (almost) every week day. Subscribe here now -
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