The Grinning Mountain

Don’t you just love the quirkiness of Nature? I’m sure there are moments when Nature conspires to take us by surprise when we’re least expecting it. Put up the blind this morning after a yucky rainy day yesterday to see the mountain covered in snow. Hadn’t realised it was that cold, I mean we are into the last month of Spring after all, but then again this is Tasmania, so with camera in hand thought I’d head out to see if I could get a decent shot.

Didn’t have to go far. Heading for the bush, there staring down at me, taking me completely off guard, was the biggest, craziest grin. Cracked me up. I was tossing up whether the mountain was laughing at us mere mortals below who’ve been wondering when Spring would really show itself and give us a bit more warmth, or whether it was beckoning us to come and play.

By the sound of the steady stream of cars heading up the mountain, I think many must have forsaken their normal routine and responded to the call, a good choice I reckon.

Whether an untimely fall of snow, spectacular sunrise or sunset, invigorating bushwalk, cascading waterfall, the beautiful aroma as I mow under the lemon scented eucalypt, the greeting of a blue wren on my window sill while having my morning cuppa, an echidna who’s ventured far off course and is exploring my backyard, these things and countless more bring a smile to my face.

They take me out of my rigid little world of seemingly important things that insist on being done, and remind me there is a crazy creator out there who delights in giving us pleasure, who wants us to relate to him, and if he has to smile down at me from the mountain to get my attention, well, I guess that’s just the way he’s going to do it.

Fire and Ice

Interesting that at a time when I’m attempting and producing very little writing, my mind is actually in a much more creative space than usual. I seem to be heading down a different road at the moment though. For years I’ve been taking my camera with me almost everywhere I go, clicking away at images which capture my attention or imagination, but as they mount up in their files on the computer, and the occasional one turns itself into a framed enlargement, I still wonder what to do with them all.

Gone are the days of filling photo albums, and my snaps are not good enough to turn into a photography career, but there seems to be little point in accumulating them ad infinitum, other than going back to look at them, reminding myself of that moment when I stood in wonder at what was before me. Actually, I guess that is the point.

Such was a morning last month, definitely not one during August as we’ve broken all rainfall records here and seen very few sunny days. I woke just a little later than I would have liked, to the most brilliant sunrise. It was a freezing winter morning, but as soon as I dragged myself out of bed I was kicking myself for not doing so about ten minutes earlier. The sky was on fire, every shade of orange you could think of, but of course in the few minutes it took me to get dressed and race out of the house to my usual sunrise photo taking spot, all had changed. The sun was already peeping over the horizon, the brilliance had dissipated and the moment was gone, so I trekked off on my usual morning walk.

 

All was not lost though, for as I headed through the centre of the village I was treated with a rare sight. Our massive gnarly old Village Green tree made up for what I had missed by turning on its own light show, bathed in the vibrant morning sun. The sheer beauty of it stopped me in my tracks, I’ve lived here more than eighteen years and I’ve never witnessed it before, but its transformation blew me away.

Not to be outdone, my early morning walk also offered up a mob of deer leisurely wandering along the street before heading back into the bush for the day, and then another surprise, one befitting the freezing temperature. I came across a couple of frozen puddles, one with ice so thick it was almost white. Like a molten glass sculpture, it just begged to be noticed. It never ceases to amaze me how the most simple and unassuming things, especially in nature, can provide images so stunning that you can’t help but stand in awe. Well, I can’t anyway.

 

And it is this more visual journey I find myself on of late, wondering how to combine my growing collection of photos with my writing in some sort of creative way. Still working that one out, but having the brain ticking over thinking of possible projects is an enjoyable process.

I’m forever fluctuating between my own fire and ice moments, times when I’m fired up, my imagination is engaged and I’m actually producing something, and those long drawn out bleak periods when it feels like another creative thought is never going to emerge from the recesses of my brain.

What I can do in those moments though, is to continue observing, absorbing, and reflecting on the world around me, capturing moments with the camera if necessary, for in doing so I’m storing up a wealth of images, memories and emotional responses which will simply have to find expression in some form or other. 

Unblocking the Drains

No, I haven’t had to call in the plumber, and despite the fact my internal workings are not exactly what they should be, it’s the journey of the unblocking of my mind on which I’ve had to yet again set out. As the title of my blog attests, the desire is to write, not just any old stuff, but something worthy of being read by those other than myself, and lately the S bend has become clogged. Nothing was making its way past that blockage, no amount of metaphorical Draino was having any effect.

For some reason I find the structure of a writing course or writer’s group rather handy, for it keeps me on my toes, spurs me on to keep producing, but when not in this construct for an extended period of time the self doubt takes over once again, apathy becomes the norm, self flagellation the response for not picking myself up and motoring on. Not literally of course, don’t have any cat o’ nine tails hidden in the wardrobe, but the mind can play all sorts of tricks to trip you up when the dream seems all but unattainable.

So, in this past week I’ve joined a small group doing The Artist’s Way, a 12 part course written by Julia Cameron in discovering and recovering your creative self. We’re a mixed bunch covering several artistic pursuits, music, dance, glass sculpting, singing, painting, crafts and writing. The very fact we’re not all chasing the same specific dream is going to be helpful, for we will all have different experiences from which to draw to bring to our discussions. The process however of releasing our creativity will have its similarities, delving deeper internally to discover what brings us joy, to what helps us tap into our dreams so our authentic selves can be expressed in whatever form, at the same time as identifying those things which prevent us from doing that.

For me it will be something of a spiritual journey, for the basic tools used during the course will I know bring me to those moments and places where I am confronted with the most basic questions. Who am I? What am I doing here? What and who do I want to be? Do I have something worthwhile to say or do in my little corner of the world?

The first basic tool is Morning Pages, 3 pages every day of whatever you can write, whether you’re feeling inspired or believing this whole thing is a waste of time. Stream of consciousness writing, letting the pen do its thing, not stopping to think too hard about what you’re doing. Funny thing is, only four days in, and the bare bones I start on page 1 suddenly turns into something much more meaningful by the end of page 3.

The second tool is the Artist Date, taking yourself off somewhere alone to revive your dry tired soul, or spirit, or whatever it is that needs refilling, in order to once again have some internal resources on which to draw. In one sense this activity is not entirely new, for I love taking time to observe the world around me, people, music, art, natural and manmade landscapes, but as much as I appreciate sweeping vistas it is the small details which fascinate me.

Yesterday found me at Cataract Gorge, vastly different from my previous visit when it was in flood last year. Back then it was all turmoil and power and savage beauty, but now, not a ripple on the water, beautiful reflections, but it was the moss and lichen and creepers on the rocks by the side of the path which intrigued me most. Besides writing, photography would have to be my next favourite creative pursuit, and though I’m no expert I do enjoy capturing images which speak to me, fill me with awe and reaffirm my relationship with the creator of this amazing universe.

So, with not even one week into the course gone, I’ve at least plucked up the energy to face the keyboard again and have another go. Whether or not I share anything from my morning pages remains to be seen, but with several photos from the Gorge pasted into my journal along with today’s entry, I’m trusting these next few months will once more kick start my creative juices.