Category: flowers

A Creative Pull

Published on by Mary GelpiLeave a comment

Someone, I think it was Picasso, said that you cannot conjure up inspiration yourself, you can only hope that it finds you working. This says to me that in the arts, no matter what field you’re enjoying or pursuing, for money or no money, you have to be tuned in to a certain frequency so that when creative, organic ideas come buzzing around, they have a place to land. So many times I sit down to write one thing, and an entirely other subject reveals itself, at which point I start seeking out a whole different answer than the one I’d planned. Probably because the one I planned was trash, and this new idea found someone with a pen to paper, fingers to keys—then the magic happens.

I don’t call it “magic” in reference to the work produced—it actually feels like a magical process that a person can tune in to some vibrational frequency where pure, untethered creativity abounds and can attach and stick- if you stick with it. I often feel more confident about the new paths that reveal themselves while I’m onto something entirely different, because it’s almost something that can be viscerally felt, in the chest maybe: this idea, or shift.

Lately I’ve felt real “movememnt” inside of me; I have no idea what else to call it. It feels like this excess, internal energy, but it doesn’t have a way out. SO sometimes it’s angst, which is just absurd. It is however the reason I organized the spice cabinet recently, which was fine, but I know it wasn’t “it”. Duh. When I started this blog more than ten years ago, I was trying to make it easier, funnier, and with optimism to convey everyday life with ME/CFS. For whatever reason when I go to write now, sure I can do the same thing, but some other pull brings me out of it, maybe because I’ve beaten to death the quotidian life with illness topic. Maybe I let this blog be what it’s always been, and follow this magnetic pull, or push, to move onto some other creative endeavor.

It doesn’t mean I would stop writing—it’s my true life love and companion and I don’t mind sounding like a loser in saying so. But in so many ways it’s saved me from my very own stupid mind. I am best mentally when I’m creating, thinking and spitballing new ideas. And the thing is, there is still so much left to do, reveal, and chase in the mecfs realm, I don’t at all feel finished with the subject matter, trust me. But there is this internal draw to elevate this topic somehow. Maybe that means a new home to explore the ideas I’ve done here, a new means of getting it out to the masses, or even a few people, as long as it’s accessible by all. I only know I’ve really fallen off the wagon in this little corner that always felt like home, no matter who’s home I was living in! There’s been many, let me say.

The other confusing part is that there is SO much left unsaid, so many rocks to overturn and so much fight left to fight. I don’t at all want to turn my back on any of that. But why do I keep coming back here to write, only to turn to my notebooks where I write pen to paper and not a person can see? For one thing, I happen to like hand writing. There’s always the possibility of writing and taking a photo of it? But is that going backwards? I don’t know. Maybe I just fell off the horse for too long and it’s too late to get back on. I’m still writing to myself in my head all the time. But it ends up as scattered ideas in one of my three notebooks floating around the house and nothing is sequential or tied up with a bow and that, my friends, is one way to write, but I don’t think it’s any way to “be” a writer.

Why am I putting these self-conscious, disoriented thoughts out on the blog? Because my smaller self would have me write them in a notebook, where I’d likely reach no better resolution, and no one would know what’s happening on the other side of this thing. Is it me or do blogs feel outdated? I actually like hand-writing things because SO FEW THINGS are hand written anymore! I wrote a check the other day and felt straight out of the late 90’s. It was great! I’m a romantic, and nostalgic, what can I say. I’d love a real land line.

I’m not against technology although of course I fear how fast it moves and whether I can keep up in a viable, important way. I know I want to continue to reach sick people in an easy, honest way—I want to provide a departure from the horrors of a new doctor, the unsolicited advice, the online hold music at Walgreens, and anything that comes in an envelope from insurance and you can be sure it’s not good news. I think it’s important this community always be moving, be talking, making space and making noise for our very existence to be known. I have no intention of abandoning purpose there.

I’m just wondering if this blog should be left alone as a relic of its own time, and the next “creative spark”, whatever it may be, might find a spot in its place—a more modern place that is just as far-reaching.

Let me emphasize, this is not a good bye letter, not at all. Not that anyone is reading because I’ve abandoned this thing way too many times. If anything, it’s hello, because I thought I would get into a routine this summer and write write write all the way home. Maybe I will do that. But I have to mention this inexplicable tugging from I don’t know where, asking still to pursue these ideas, but possibly change up the form, escalate the medium. It doesn’t help that WordPress is completely updated and new and CONFUSING AF. And I’m tech savvy, for a girl and all. (Ha.Ha.)

Anyway this has always felt like a place to tell the truth, and if I didn’t have it, than to write things out and find it. It’s sort of amazing how writing can get you to answers. Mostly I think, it slows things down, and when we are still enough, we do get to our sought after answers. Or at least think to rephrase the initial question differently. No, no, for now this is just a hello and here’s what’s what letter, which of course, I don’t know yet what the what is. Why would anyone read this? My God.

For anyone who’s felt a little lost in their own life, aimless with where they thought their skill set might bring them, you know the constant hesitation and uncertainty that follows you like a shadow. I’m continuously letting myself down by letting this site get dusty and only once in a blue moon filling it in with what’s new. That’s not what a good blog does, and I like to do things well! If anything, I can do better. And that can easily start here, and maybe even stay here— who knows where it will end. Hopefully in a place that feels meaningful, enthusiastic, and mostly, like this blog, like home.

I posted a few of the drawings I’ve been working on when I decide to distract myself from writing instead. I’ll say, putting pen to paper for any intention feels good. If you’re in bed, I suggest this book, which teaches you in 6-10 steps how to draw hundreds of different flowers. (Shop around online, you should be able to get it for around $20) I’ve been enjoying it a lot. I also think it would make a great gift for anyone stuck in bed, stuck in life, whatever they are. There’s a real enjoyment that comes simply from drawing a flower, and I highly recommend it.

Well, until next time, which I hope is very soon….Signing off. Happy Holidays :)

Health, Happiness, Movement

The Opposite of Boredom

Published on by Mary Gelpi3 Comments

A few noteworthy things of late.

I’m completely lost in Walker Percy’s The Moviegoer. I began reading it Sunday and now I find myself attempting to read only small bits at a time because I’m already dreading it being over. It’s such a good read. The protagonist Jack really resonates with me but also Percy is such a creative and dead-on writer of things large and small. I admit reading his words make me feel like I could never write anything of worth if I tried for it my entire life. But on other pages his complex ideas play out so simply, his writing so accessible that it gives the assuring impression that anyone could do it. The story takes place in New Orleans mostly, among other Louisiana Parishes and the Mississippi coast. I love stories set here, not for reasons of pride but for how perfectly the landscape plays into the story, picking up where plot leaves off. Something huge would inevitably be lost were it to be told from Ohio…or Michigan. All parts of it from the dress, to the houses, to the unnerving racial tension are all intrinsically Southern, and you find yourself loving it whether you hate it or not. Also of note, Percy lived in Covington. He used to drive the bridge to New Orleans. I guess it’s encouraging to know something so inspiring came out of this little town that for so long I hated. Speaking of the bridge..

I had another moment of coherence. This time around mile marker 11. Monty and I were driving home once again, New Orleans to the Northshore, last Monday evening. It was a pretty nondescript Monday, cloudless with little traffic. But my thoughts were floating through me with the rhythm of the bumps per usual. Then I did this thing which I do a lot. A small amount of congested traffic formed from some kind of road repair, and as I slowed my car to a near-halt, I felt myself bracing for impact. Not from me but from a car behind. (No car in particular, I do this no matter who’s behind me) Then I imagined the loud crashing sound it would make and my airbags inflating. Then the last part which is usually the most unnerving for me, I saw my car crashing through the concrete barrier to my right,  and my feeble Toyota corolla with Monty and me inside it, falling slow motion into the water. Down, down we’d go.

like this. but less black and whiteness.
Like this. But less black and whiteness.

And usually the thought doesn’t end with a rescue. Usually it ends with me shuttering at the idea of the lights going out on my life so fast, and then me being jerked back to reality, convincing myself someway that death is nothing to think about. As though I’ll never die! But last Monday was different. I had the thought, I braced for impact, I saw the vision of my falling car. And then out of nowhere…tranquility. My mind felt placid. I may have even smiled. I thought how weightless that moment must be when you finally let go. The grand transition. Finally releasing something you’ve held so tightly onto, whether it was good to you or not. The surrender. The relief! It finally occurred to me that only being lost so deeply in the world garners that sort of fear about death. If we could interview those who have “passed on” (as I hear older religious folk say) I think they’d say it wasn’t that scary. Nothing compared to the rest of their life on earth scared to death imagining it! I’d love to get just one interview. It’s like I know all these dead people and none of them will give me the dirt.

Anyway, I can’t explain how reassuring that moment was on the bridge. I remember in California over a year ago, I was sicker than I’d ever been to the point I actually thought I might be dying. And I hated the idea. I was so overwhelmed by that possibility that often it brought me to tears and I’d have to excuse myself and physically catch my breath. In theory it should have been almost a relief to think about–an end to suffering. But I didn’t want to die. And I certainly didn’t want my last days on earth to be like the ones I was having there. Closed up indoors, lifeless, feeling very alone. It’s just interesting to me that now that I’ve really been living these last few months, and dare I say it, even–happy–my fear of death has lessened. I’ve enjoyed the park and the pool with Monty in the sun. I’ve gone to dinner parties. I’ve said yes to things that in my sick past were a big fat no. I’ve spent quality time with people I love, not doing a whole lot of anything at all but talking about life and people and laughing really, really hard. And there on the bridge, for maybe no more than a second, I didn’t fear death. I felt curious and interested. But I wasn’t tense bracing for impact. I was smiling at how much fun I’ve been having and how at ease with life I feel. You’d think that would make the idea of death more unnerving than ever, because it means an end to happy times. But the opposite occurred. From my perspective over the water, death was just another thing that happens. Maybe after all, it’s not that big a deal? Hah. That moment was the first I’ve had that it didn’t feel like this overwhelming weight baring that comes with the knowledge that one day we’re all going to die. And even though my normal angst about it has at least half returned, that moment has really stuck and it feels readily accessible still. There was something very casual about it, which made me trust it even more. Sometimes I find myself looking for grand answers, spectacles, formal explanations of life and existence..and this was not really that. It was a simple and tranquil instant of acceptance, and those are the moments that persist. I pet Monty’s velvet ears, turned up the music and into the distance we drove. That indistinct Monday turned out to be quite the evening as it were.

Besides my newfound excitement for death! (jk)… the Day Lily’s are back in bloom. I looked at all the colors sprouting up yesterday, noting that by nature’s calendar I’ve officially been in this house for one year. I remember writing about these flowers last year, excited for how life in the pool house might unfold. Funny I hardly remember what’s happened in the time since then. In some way the fact that nothing terrible stands out makes it safe to say it’s been a pretty decent year. I only know that being given the gift of “relative health” the last few months has truly been remarkable for me. I’ve been enjoying the hell out of so many moments– of friends and boys and late nights immensely–and I feel gratefulness overflowing in me. I don’t remember the last time I was bored. I’ve read and written and played Taylor Swift on my guitar ridiculously loud. When I’m sick I rest. When I have energy I go. But most notably is this gratitude and the awareness of this gratitude. It occurred to me recently that this is the opposite of boredom. When I feel gratitude I feel like I’m living with my eyes open. I’m often noticing things that were already there that I’d simply skipped over before. I like this feeling of being in touch with my aliveness, seeing the realm of possibility beyond personal limits, recognizing the awe-inspiring nature of everything alive. Maybe it’s why I love saving the frogs from the pool, or why I don’t get rid of the spider living in the corner of my bathroom. I don’t think you can be in tune to these truths and be also bored. Boredom uses a narrow vision, it sees life as something to happen for us and not from us. Even yesterday, which turned out to be a crash day spent in bed, I lost myself in the enjoyment of a book, completely grateful for the existence of novels and good authors. Then completely grateful for a nice house to read them in. I never got out of my pajamas or brushed my teeth. I didn’t exactly contribute to the world. And all the same, it was really a wonderful day. I know there was a recent time in my life when I wouldn’t have thought that to be so.

Health, Happiness, Opposites.

 

 

Wisdom In the Day Lilies

Published on by Mary Gelpi11 Comments

I’ve been pretty taken by these Day Lilly flowers blooming outside. I like that their entire purpose (for me) is just to be something delightful to look at. To be simple and beautiful reminders. It took years and years of me hearing the term “Day Lily” being thrown around as merely words assigned to a flower to one day, just last week, finally putting it together that they are named this way because they bloom for merely a day. (Duh.) They are such vibrant and roaring things. They’re like little poems themselves that don’t require writing. Flowers often strike me as delicate but these specifically do not. They’re almost unruly. They are stunning colors and you’ll find yourself lost looking in their center, unaware of time. Tolle refers to flowers as “Windows into the formless” and that makes sense when looking at these lilies. They’re incredible creatures, and they only last a day.

.
.

photo-1
.

.
.

If you’ve never read Eckhart Tolle’s A New Earth, he begins the book with a description about the first flower ever to bloom on our planet, and why that is important to our existence and collective consciousness now. It’s quite a beautiful passage. So here it is:

Earth, 114 million years ago, one morning just after sunrise: The first flower ever to appear on the planet opens up to receive the rays of the sun. Prior to this momentous event that heralds an evolutionary transformation in the life of plants, the planet had already been covered in vegetation for millions of years. The first flower probably did not survive for long, and flowers must have remained an isolated phenomena, since conditions were most likely not yet favorable for a widespread flowering to occur. One day, however, a critical threshold was reached, and suddenly there would have been an explosion of color and scent all over the planet– if a perceiving consciousness had been there to witness it.

.
.

I really love this description and the image of such a large, simultaneous blooming. But the deeper point he goes on to make is that flowers were most likely the first things human beings came to value “that had no real utilitarian purpose for them–that is to say, were not linked in some way to survival.” He attributes our fascination with flowers to their ethereal quality, calling them “temporary manifestations of the underlying One Consciousness.”  Since a flower is a glimpse into the formless, and ego is described as “identification with form” (materialism, i.e. I am what I have) we can say that the simple act of looking at flowers is an opportunity for us to see with our soul and not our eyes. To drop our egos for a moment. Physically the flowers are beautiful, and underneath they represent the joy of formless beauty. You don’t have to “own” a flower to enjoy it. It’s interesting too to witness how the entire atmosphere of a room can change once you put a vase of real flowers in the center. Or even one flower in a small vase. Somehow, it makes a difference. It changes things.

.
.

To think about beauty and purpose in terms of time, it occurs to me that only humans would consider a day not long enough for something to exist. If we were told we could be beautiful and happy and perfect, but we could only last a day, would we take on the endeavor? It seems like we’d demand more time–enter some boardroom negotiation with the creator. And yet, some of us exist on earth for only a little while. There are so many lives cut short, and as survivors we see it as indecent. It feels, to us, like they were never given a chance. They were never able to really live. But maybe, like the day lilies, one day of life is more than enough time for us to serve our purpose. It’s hard to grasp conceptually. Time is something my mind busies itself with at night–until I think of the concept of eternity for too long and the thought becomes too intense and my brain explodes. It’s pretty frustrating, you can imagine. Gary Zukav once described life in terms of time as “the eternal moment” and sometimes that makes perfect sense to me and sometimes it’s not enough. It’s almost too simple. But that’s how I imagine a lot of the secrets of the universe to reveal themselves. Complex, large ideas executed very simply. Maybe the better word for it is elegant. 

Maybe I’ve made some far-reaching metaphors here. The truth is, flowers are pretty things to look at mostly, and possibly I’m ruining their beauty by cluttering them up with philosophy. But it’s an interesting investigation to discover why we as humans, often so entrenched on utilitarian things, furthering our purpose, working harder and faster and longer, can every once in a while stop our busy lives and look into flowers and feel a sense of ease and simplicity. We may smile looking at them without even knowing it. It’s interesting that in our modern society, flowers have come to serve the purpose of a wide spectrum of emotions. They’re a way to say “I Love You” and “I’m Sorry.” We use them to celebrate life and death. It’s no mystery why people say “Stop and smell the roses.” Flowers are small and silent, their scent often subtle–requiring you to drop everything and stick your nose right into the bloom to really take it in. I think once I just thought they were pretty things to look at and that was all. But I’m finding more and more that simple and beautiful things, selfless providers, (flowers, dogs, sunsets) are much more in tune to our purpose here and the work we do. If ego is the blueprint for dysfunction like Tolle says, perhaps flowers are the blueprint to consciousness. If even just for a day.

Health, Happiness, Day Lilies

*I took these photos on my iphone and they haven’t been enhanced. For realsy!