Words and Pictures- Gwen McClellan

Thursday, May 22, 2014

5.22.14 Just Smooth That Caringness Over Them

Photo: I woke early, with the crisp spring breeze moving the bedroom curtains, quietly undulating with the winds that circle our globe. Much to the consternation of the Shepherd pup, wired to view all new things with suspicion and the necessity to protect.
Slowly opening my eyes, feeling the weight of small Shiva Louisa pressed up by my side, her tenacious elder years holding out for the still sheer delight of standing outside, bared of collar or leash, to sniff the fox deep in the West woods; the possum that meandered in the night; as she steps down the brick path, and chooses where she will go...to pee, to sniff, to check always the site of the cage of rabbit next door, who she liked -who is now taken by the wild animals. To snuffle into the new green wild growth, and wander by the emerging wildlife pathways, cut beneath fern and wild rose and blackberry, by the frequency of wildlife passing, those things so invisible to us we sometimes think we, in fact, are the only ones here.
The greatest thing I miss, come winter, when we batten down the hatches, is this constant infusion of fresh air. The thing I missed most living anywhere not surrounded by clean air ; the open window ushering in cool nourishment.
Last year I remember staying overnight in NYC- the country mouse and all. The view from the room's window, of Central Park. And on past that, the very tip of the Met, calling to us. Over to the right, The American Museum of Natural History, just visible. The sheer volume of neighborhoods and peoples and lives. I opened the window, and in the early morning, it wasn't so bad...seemed nice to welcome in the air of the place, the people, and whomever else lived there. (Coywolves in Central Park!)
Because in the country, the scale is so very small. So quiet. The wildlife outnumber you, as do the trees and Sweet Fern and beetles and seedlings. You are one of many, and unable to forget for one moment. And you are only human, not some ultimate species destined to determine the lives and deaths of all living things, and planet. You are so much smaller and in such good company.
Not that this is a Disney movie, for there are tiny ants beginning to consume the almost dead Monarch caterpillar I picked up. Yes. There are the Cow Birds, so sleek and black with luscious brown heads, whose destiny is to lay their clutch of eggs in one nest after another, and then depart. It is their genes. And their progeny must and will hatch and toss out the biological hatch lings of the parents, and garner all the feeding and care for themselves.
And for days now, the Turkey Vultures pass overhead, circling with their elegance, with what I see as their singular beauty, and purpose, too- blocking the sun momentarily, letting us know that someone has died or been prey, and that there are remains to clean up- which of course, is their genetic destiny also.
And we have the incessant small birds, painfully protesting as they circle and fly at the crow carrying away some form of their young ones. But these things happen. They happen all round the globe and all through life. And some of you live in far more rough and tumble places, which is not tough to do compared to my sequestered foothill here in the woods. You watch and grimace and then write and then strain to accept the unacceptable in human behavior; in human parenting; in bored human dog-pack mentality.
Oh, when I was younger, walking the small safe streets of our nearby small city with my preteens, I would come upon groups of teens - or young adults, swearing with abandon. I would sidle up to them, grab their sleeve or collar, smile into their faces like a mother does, and say "You really don't' want to talk like that where young people, or older people who aren't used to that language, have to hear you. You know what I mean?"
And always, they would look at me and get the caring. They would register the motherness. They would smile, maybe because its only a small safe little city, and they have not seen the worst of it; and they would be embarrassed. I would give them a shoulder shove, just a nice motherly one, and smile. Say " You have a nice day." And they would laugh, and jostle each other, having been mothered out on the streets, unexpectedly.
Sometimes I wonder if that's what we need. The roving parents. The meandering Caring Ones. Who in a perfect story don't project or assume what someone is doing or what is right or wrong, but just go and smooth some caringness over them. Just reminding them that somewhere, somehow, that stuff is here in this life.

I woke early, with the crisp spring breeze moving the bedroom curtains, quietly undulating with the winds that circle our globe. Much to the consternation of the Shepherd pup, wired to view all new things with suspicion and the necessity to protect.

Slowly opening my eyes, feeling the weight of small Shiva Louisa pressed up by my side, her tenacious elder years holding out for the still sheer delight of standing outside, bared of collar or leash, to sniff the fox deep in the West woods; the possum that meandered in the night; as she steps down the brick path, and chooses where she will go...to pee, to sniff, to check always the site of the cage of rabbit next door, who she liked -who is now taken by the wild animals. To snuffle into the new green wild growth, and wander by the emerging wildlife pathways, cut beneath fern and wild rose and blackberry, by the frequency of wildlife passing, those things so invisible to us we sometimes think we, in fact, are the only ones here.

The greatest thing I miss, come winter, when we batten down the hatches, is this constant infusion of fresh air. The thing I missed most living anywhere not surrounded by clean air ; the open window ushering in cool nourishment.

Last year I remember staying overnight in NYC- the country mouse and all. The view from the room's window, of Central Park. And on past that, the very tip of the Met, calling to us. Over to the right, The American Museum of Natural History, just visible. The sheer volume of neighborhoods and peoples and lives. I opened the window, and in the early morning, it wasn't so bad...seemed nice to welcome in the air of the place, the people, and whomever else lived there. (Coywolves in Central Park!)

Because in the country, the scale is so very small. So quiet. The wildlife outnumber you, as do the trees and Sweet Fern and beetles and seedlings. You are one of many, and unable to forget for one moment. And you are only human, not some ultimate species destined to determine the lives and deaths of all living things, and planet. You are so much smaller and in such good company.

Not that this is a Disney movie, for there are tiny ants beginning to consume the almost dead Monarch caterpillar I picked up. Yes. There are the Cow Birds, so sleek and black with luscious brown heads, whose destiny is to lay their clutch of eggs in one nest after another, and then depart. It is their genes. And their progeny must and will hatch and toss out the biological hatch lings of the parents, and garner all the feeding and care for themselves.

And for days now, the Turkey Vultures pass overhead, circling with their elegance, with what I see as their singular beauty, and purpose, too- blocking the sun momentarily, letting us know that someone has died or been prey, and that there are remains to clean up- which of course, is their genetic destiny also.

And we have the incessant small birds, painfully protesting as they circle and fly at the crow carrying away some form of their young ones. But these things happen. They happen all round the globe and all through life. And some of you live in far more rough and tumble places, which is not tough to do compared to my sequestered foothill here in the woods. You watch and grimace and then write and then strain to accept the unacceptable in human behavior; in human parenting; in bored human dog-pack mentality.

Oh, when I was younger, walking the small safe streets of our nearby small city with my preteens, I would come upon groups of teens - or young adults, swearing with abandon. I would sidle up to them, grab their sleeve or collar, smile into their faces like a mother does, and say "You really don't' want to talk like that where young people, or older people who aren't used to that language, have to hear you. You know what I mean?"

And always, they would look at me and get the caring. They would register the motherness. They would smile, maybe because its only a small safe little city, and they have not seen the worst of it; and they would be embarrassed. I would give them a shoulder shove, just a nice motherly one, and smile. Say " You have a nice day." And they would laugh, and jostle each other, having been mothered out on the streets, unexpectedly.

Sometimes I wonder if that's what we need. The roving parents. The meandering Caring Ones. Who in a perfect story don't project or assume what someone is doing or what is right or wrong, but just go and smooth some caringness over them. Just reminding them that somewhere, somehow, that stuff is here in this life.

Saturday, May 3, 2014

4.25.14 Middle Age Resonates

Photo: "Middle age resonates with so much loss, profound and superficial; expectations die, friendships fade, hairlines recede, looks change, and health and hope are no longer givens.
It becomes easy to forget the fullness that has come before; self-pity, while a dreary threadbare flannel when worn by others, has a luxuriant silky feel when we wrap it around ourselves.
We may have no idea what will happen next, but it seems ungrateful to complain when there has been so much that was good in the past, whether or not we had the wit to recognize it.
We then find a way forward, despite fear and paralysis. We create boundaries and then we defy them."
Lynn Darling

"Middle age resonates with so much loss, profound and superficial; expectations die, friendships fade, hairlines recede, looks change, and health and hope are no longer givens.
It becomes easy to forget the fullness that has come before; self-pity, while a dreary threadbare flannel when worn by others, has a luxuriant silky feel when we wrap it around ourselves.
We may have no idea what will happen next, but it seems ungrateful to complain when there has been so much that was good in the past, whether or not we had the wit to recognize it.
We then find a way forward, despite fear and paralysis. We create boundaries and then we defy them."
Lynn Darling

4.28.14 There Is A Special Place

There is a special place
reserved in my heart
for those who do not take good care of animals,
and will not listen.

4.25.14 Beneath and Between -Aging, And Getting To Know The Terrain

Beneath and Between -Aging, And Getting To Know The Terrain

To know where we're going, it helps to know where we've been. It certainly is of use to have some quiet and functional sense if where we are -at this very moment.

Sometimes, it seems , as that furious, confusing pace of growing up, figuring out, learning, accomplishing, measuring ourselves ,becoming independent, and having the morass of our choices and consequence - eventually slows...

As we become somewhat accustomed to the who that we seem to be, the overwhelm of what is our life does seem to slowly settle.

I tell this to adolescents and young adults in my practice all the time. I say 'Your life is moving so fast. It won't always be this way. Soon enough, you'll begin to have a chance to get a sense of who on earth you are. You will begin to develop a lay of the land. Simply try - to keep your eyes and your mind -open.'

Each of us 'gets' to have some experiences, and not others. It's simply how it is.

That means adequate income, or not- at jobs we relish, tolerate, or detest. Living in places that are unsafe and choked with pollution and crime and unkind others , in clean country , or rich city neighborhoods. With open hearted brethren, crabby gossipy people who don't like us on sight, or most often, some complication of in-between.

Sometimes we love-and have groups of friends, or a very good friend for awhile. Sometimes we have lovers and partners- and sometimes for just a while, or much longer.

Sometimes, if we're allowed, we marry. And sometimes we persist in sibling-ship or friendship or lover-ship , past predictable fears and projections and mid-matched fits-

and sometimes one or another of us simply throws in the towel. And heads off , glad and relieved, or regretful and later saddened by a sore lack of foresight or tenacity.

There are connections and communities in some lives. Neighborhoods . Spiritual or religious connections. Offspring , biological or chosen, that either grate or enrich our days, as they grow and extend their own selves , tentatively, out into the world.

At times we know tragedy and great loss , or cleave another to us who lives through or survives through this.

All the while , our difficult, breathlessly precious, unique, mysterious life is progressing, from our very birth , to however far along we live into.
And beneath and between all of this, continually, like a rich life soup, all we are and have been is added each day .
By what we encounter in our dream last night, or what season it is. Or by how our neighbor or horse or beloved or left knee is managing on this day.

One of the discoveries is how, as each year progresses, the agenda or defensive self-portrayal often shimmers and then slowly crumbles at our feet.

Who cares how well we write or draw or understand concepts - we're going to apply for that job or go take that class or engage in that discussion and enjoy it.

Who cares if we have a belly that interferes, but bicycling slowly down the bike path a bit is pure pleasure. If our face wrinkles and the pleasure of giving people whiplash when you walk into a room is long gone.

Because in the midst of these days that linger, nourished by brain supplements and healthy helpings of orange and leafy green vegetables , and cooling our minds out any which way so we can sleep deeply and well... beneath and between all of this passage of time and increasing familiarity of the terrain of our own lives - grows a nascent, imperturbable solidity of sense of self. No more fooling around. No more pretending, posturing, or living 'as if'. Because it simply doesn't make it.

It's not substantive and it's not satisfying and it doesn't help and it creates anxiety and uncertainty, and who on earth wants that crap? It just begins to be clear . Which is one of those pretty cool things about getting older. If we keep our eyes open and our emotions expressed and we truly want to be in the present moment as it actually is.

Nope. Beneath and between all of where we've been and who we morph into, like rings of a tree, gestates this prescient stuff that tenders no nonsense and thrives on what is . Today.