The Poetry of the Wind

I want to know the poetry of the wind.

What get's carried, and where it goes...

A project I stumbled across on facebook, http://hint.fm/wind/gallery/mar-17.js.html, is a map, a simulation of the winds in the US.  Jacob and I were looking at it last night, and could make out the movement around some of the mountains we crossed in Southern California. Where San Jacinto would be, there was a circular motion to the wind as it went and ran up against it and was pushed around in a different direction. San Gorgonio, and up and up as we started to pick out parts of the Sierra. It's neat to give a picture to an energy we can't see even though we feel the wind, hear the wind, touch the wind, taste the wind.

What other energies do we pass right on by, simply because we can't see them?

Arlington by The Wailin' Jennys started playing as I was writing. Happenstance? Perhaps...

Where do you go little bird

When it snows, when it snows

When the world turns to sleep

Do you know, do you know

Is there something in the wind

Breathes a chill in your heart and life in your wings

Does it whisper 'start again'

Start again

Where is the sun in the night

Is it cold, is it cold

Does it feel left behind

All alone, all alone

Does it wander through the dark

Does it wait for the dawn, wish on a star

Does it stray very far

Very far

Where is your home restless wind

Is it there, is it here

Do you search for a place to belong

Search in vain, search in fear

Or is your spirit everywhere

Is your voice every tree

Your soul of the air

If there's no home is there no death

Is there no death

Imaginal Cells: Nature's Imagination

"What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls the butterfly." ~Richard Bach

It's spring, and some caterpillars are or already have gone through one of the most magical reminders of the life/death/life cycle. On my run today, I was distracted more than once by the butterflies fleeting around me, and I couldn't help wonder how it must feel to have fresh new wings.  

During the life cycle of a butterfly, a caterpillar is liquified inside the chrysalis in the transition phase. There are cells forming the liquid which carry the intelligence to metamorphose into what we recognize as a beautiful, shimmering, and majestic butterfly. These are the imaginal cells. 

If we were to open up a cocoon during this process, we'd encounter a blob of goop, unrecognizable from the very hungry caterpillar it was before, or the butterfly it will become. I think of becoming that blob of goop. 

In order to become, do we have to give in to the inevitable goopy part of the cycle? Do we have to let parts of ourselves die in order to live? 

And what about these magical imaginal cells? 

Scientists named them this for a reason. Because they carry the image of the butterfly in complete detail. There comes a time when imaginal cells wake up. Upon activation, they congregate. They are instinctively drawn to each other, sending messages to mobilize and connect to become the genetic directors, and thus take on the task of forming the butterfly. 

There are researchers who study how many of these imaginal cells are needed in order to make the metamorphosis complete. While the exact number continues to be unknown, it appears that it's been established that there is a critical point, in which the pre-existing caterpillar cells putrefy, becoming a nutritive soup for the imaginal cells, feeding them while they continue to create the butterfly. Then the imaginal cells differentiate. Some become wing cells, some become antenae cells, some part of the digestive tract, and so on. Once the butterfly emerges from the cocoon, there are no imaginal cells remaining, only the miracle of a butterfly. 

Imaginal cells, so magically and exquisitely attuned to the intelligence of nature. 

Do we have our own imaginal cells? Dormant, just waiting to be activated? Activated when we are ready to leave the cocoon we've created for ourselves? 

It's a nice thought.

Springing here

Jacob and I went for a picnic/walk at Wilder Ranch State Park. The park contains 5000 acres of coastal habitat, trails, farms, and historic buildings. Many things merge at this particular spot on the Pacific Coast just north of Santa Cruz. The area is rich with preserved history, a dance between the past and present. The Ohlone people once hunted the hills and fished along the shorelines for abalone. Settlers converted the land to dairy farms. Today it is the setting for recreation, wildlife restoration and preservation, and farming.

We walked along a path bordered by scrub and agricultural farms and followed the coastal bluffs. Along with stunning views of the rocky shoreline, we witnessed a restoration project in progress, returning agricultural farms to thriving coastal wetland and riparian habitats, providing refuge for endangered species such as the Snowy Plover and Peregrine Falcon. I caught glimpses of gulls and terns, raptors (I was unable to identify), canadian geese, and tried to keep my eyes peeled when we approached views of the intertidal shelves and cliffs for nesting birds.  We had lunch at Sand Plant Beach, where we were greeted by the bobbing head of a seal, checking us out while the waves crashed around him/her. Wilder Ranch SP elicits a desire to frolic and skip, do cartwheels. And so I did. Cartwheel, I mean.

Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today;

And give us not to think so far away

As the uncertain harvest; keep us here

All simply in the springing of the year.

–Robert Frost

California Poppy

Calla Lillies

Pretty Purple Flower

I thought this was an egg, but upon closer inspection realized it was a mushroom.

Gulls, terns and other birds congregate on the ledge

Cliff's at Wilder Ranch State Park

oh, happy day.

Happy April.

Write so the heart stays soft: On vulnerability and interviewing

Vulnerability: Telling the truth without worrying whether or not it sounds good. Revealing the self without concealing imperfections. Admitting freely when I don't have my shit together. -me

A lesson from interviewing: Embrace Vulnerability

I've had multiple interviews in the last few months. 

Interviewing sucks. For everyone. It sucks for those who are trying to decide whether you are the right person for the job, just as much as for us who are trying to find a place where we can fit in, contribute, and be happy about how we spend our time. 

It is the art of constructing an identity. It is a first date when you want to look your best, because contrary to what we say and want to believe, looks in our culture do matter. It is learning what people want to hear and saying it in a way that says, "I'm genuine." At worst, it feels fake. At best, you are able to find a place where you are valued and you are being genuine.  

It is constructing conversations in the head, with potential employers, parents,friends and acquaintances. 

It is learning not to take it personally when you are rejected, even though sometimes it is you and it is personal.

It is creating and telling a narrative while stifling insecurities and feelings of inadequacy, incompetency, fear, shame, and guilt. It is glossing over past failed projects, goals and dreams that never materialized, wishes lost in the sea of possibilities. It means trying to maintain a sense of worth. It is pushing back on the feeling that there is something fundamentally wrong. 

If I admit that these feelings are just stronger than me right now, then it's confirmed that the feelings are, indeed, truth. 

This narrative, which attempts to omit these feelings, might actually just be my self unraveling. 

Conversation doesn't happen in a vacuum, and you can't hide behind your weaknesses and failures without being "outed." So, I'm trying to embrace vulnerability and perhaps say, yes, I am unraveling. I'm trying. 

I think (hope) this is a lesson I'll look back on and want to carry. Embracing vulnerability is one of the murkier conversations with the self. It can't be scripted, or omitted. The feelings need to have a place at the table. They need to have a space to voice their concerns. And I want to listen to them. Even though it bruises my ego.

This means I have to sit down at the table and have that conversation with my weaknesses and failures, my fears and shame, and say, I hear you. You matter to me. I'm all in. And it's ok. 

This is one conversation that takes practice. Now to find a way to embrace vulnerability while interviewing. 

Finding my stride

"My feet and I have this understanding...I place one in front of the other and they transport...its called walking/running/hiking..., and it opens the window of my mind and lets all the clutter rush out...like so much stale air...I don't know what my mind would do without my feet."

-Original author unknown, shared with me via email from my good friend Snowcone.

Running+Vibrams+Mud=delectably dirty feet;)

Jacob on a beloved local trail at Rancho San Antonio Open Space Preserve

It's official, I signed up for my first trail race. I will be running along the Skyline to the Sea 50km trail run on June 10. I've never run an official race longer than a half marathon, and I've only recently run more than that while training for this run. After completing the Pacific Crest Trail back in September, 2011, I promised myself that no matter what future paths I followed, I wanted to keep the daily part of the trail alive. This manifested in a desire to start running. And I feel most alive on trails. So, I've committed to running on trails.

There are running days when I feel whole, aligned, right with inner and outer sense of place and space, and my body moves with ease. I approach these days excited for what's to come, what I'll encounter, and the miles, hills, and hours I devote make me feel strong, centered, and free.

And then there are running days when I feel worn down. My body feels heavy, cumbersome, and each step a chore. My mind starts to focus on the hills, the miles, the time; and they break me down and shout at me to give up. This voice inside stifles my commitment to persevere. 

It's exactly how I felt on a long-distance hike. And, I've had this continued conversation with a realization. Not an epiphany but a truth that resides in the back recesses of my mind. A truth which has revealed itself over and over and over again. One that I face everyday, in every facet of my life. The truth that whispers, don't get so comfy when everything feels right, because very soon you'll feel the weight of the world on your shoulders. 

The ups and downs, in running and life, are in fact, the essential endurance. This is the singular hurdle which rests between the outer world and the inner strength. I'll find my stride by running through the good days as well as the bad.

In honor of Women's Day

Women's History Month and International Women's Day: Celebration.

Today is Women's Day.


And this month is Women's History Month.


So, today, and this month I think about women, around the world, who live in fear: of violence, persecution, political or social oppression.


Who don't have a safe space to explore their inner and outer worlds, who can't be silly, who can't go jump in puddles, who don't have time or resources to read a new book, write a new poem, paint a new portrait.


Who don't get to walk to the beat of their own drum, who can't even walk alone.


And I think of the women of the past and present, in my own life and whom I've never met, who take a chance, make mistakes, fall, get up, who laugh and make fools of themselves.


Who gaze up to the stars, who let their minds wander out into the free open air, and study the currents and under-currents harbored in the infinite sky.


The women who march right up to the corners of our universe, to the folds of the fabric, and who launch themselves into the unknown.


Today I express my appreciation, love, and unwavering gratitude for those individuals in my life who have allowed me the freedom and space to say what I think, whatever it is, and be who I am, without judgement.


The freedom, in friendship and love, which allowed me to embark on a life journey of possibilities, playing with life's options, and much silliness.


I have had, through no volition of my own, the good fortune to have been born to a family which provided a childhood world where I was equal, and I count my blessings.


I have had friends, family, colleagues, teachers, students, coaches and players whom have shared experiences and in mutual respect, been with me in life's joys and sorrows.






How many times I've wanted to say thanks, but never did.






Today,


I say,


Thanks.

Out There

Life has taken me away from this particular blog space, and I've decided to jump back in, to the now, the end of February, 2012.

I have read little of Edward Abbey's works, and I've decided it's high time I started.  So as of late, I've taken to reading E.A. at night before bed, and I dive into the desert via Desert Solitaire. I'm transported through voice to the world of cacti and Pinyon Pine, Juniper, Yucca, and rattle snakes dancing in collective sexual euphoria. I've never been privy reptilian mating habits, but I can imagine it would be quite an experience. In any case, reading Abbey is a great way to transition from waking life to my life in dreams.

In 1956, Ed Abbey spent a summer working as a ranger in a little National Park in southeastern Utah called Arches. Although still little, Arches is now not little known, and has changed, for better or worse, from the secluded desert oasis Abbey wrote about. He compiled his journals into a book, then dubbed Desert Solitaire, which was published with a modest following in 1968. Abbey's words resonate with me, not because they are the benediction of a self-proclaimed "nature lover", but because he captures, nay, demands our attention to the wild places, much akin to a scorpion stinging to protect his beloved home.

The following exemplifies this spirit:

"A weird, lovely, fantastic object out of nature like Delicate Arch has the curious ability to remind us-like rock and sunlight and wind and wilderness-that out there is a different world, older and greater and deeper by far than ours, a world which surrounds and sustains the little world of men as sea and sky surround and sustain a ship. The shock of the real. For a little while we are again able to see, as the child sees, a world of marvels. For a few moments we discover that nothing can be taken for granted, for if this ring of stone is marvelous then all which shaped it is marvelous, and our journey here on earth, able to see and touch and hear in the midst of tangible and mysterious things-in-themselves, is the most strange and daring of all adventures."

The following photos, capture the mystery and take me to the out there even when I'm in here. 

Somewhere in the Desert on the Pacific Crest Trail

Bishop Pass, CA 

Joshua Tree National Park 

Zion National Park, Utah

Big Basin State Park, CA 

Sequoia National Park

North Cascades National Park, WA

Photos attributed to Jacob P. Gallagher.