A Strong Rope

There comes a point in a person's life and adventures when the question of resources comes along. Each of us have resources–skills and gifts, inspirations, competence, strength and wisdom gathered from experience–and it's only right to ask how these things might combine for a bigger and better use. It's good to consider responsible use of our resources, and certainly if we can learn to do this for ourselves then we are better placed to consider this corporately, collectively.

However, there is a difficult place to sit while this is being worked out, and that's what these little frayed ropes are about.



A strong rope is made up of many strands held together, stronger than the single thread. Some ropes are smooth and sleek, others rough and rugged, some twisted and some knotted, some held together with a piece of twine. They've all got a purpose.

And so it is with us and our own resources. Sometimes it's good to sit with the unwound strands for a while and appreciate what's going in to this strong rope of yours. It's so tempting to rush the job of splicing but this does take time, and the waiting gives space to appreciate every one of those funny, frazzled and seemingly chaotic strands.

Slightly frayed? As yet unwritten.


{Today's soundtrack: it's pop but I love it, Natasha Bedingfield - Unwritten}

Impossible to sit still

For some reason, this simple scene stopped me in my tracks a couple of weeks ago during a struggle to properly engage holiday style. I recall it today because this is my first full day back at work for a while, and I'm finding it very hard to sit still and concentrate on one path of work thought for the whole afternoon.

Sigh. Life's just too big to contain at a desk in a building...

It's nice work, really not complaining, but somewhere between the Cornish coastline, a retreat in Sussex and a lighthouse on Lundy in exhilarating gales my head and heart appear to have entered orbit. Here's hoping that this humble image will do its work!

Interestingly, though maybe inexplicably, this is one of those scenes that made me lose track of time (as per last post - despite it being in a working fishing harbour and therefore quite a stinky place to hang out). Perhaps its power is in the balanced and reflected angles that draw equilibrium... or maybe the uncomplicated arrangement of shape and colour that was refreshing to my tired eyes, always so busy taking everything in. Either way, this is my gentle way in again while trying to come back to earth and work out where to begin.


{Today's soundtrack: Orbital - Lush | Halcyon}

{Additional soundtrack: Arvo Part - Spiegel Im Spiegel}

Homeland

Yeah, the thing about that piece of ocean is this: it's difficult to work out exactly when enough is enough. Here's a friend of mine to sit and watch with and ask, when was the last time you sat in a beautiful place just to watch, and truly, truly lost track of time? I mean, really lost it, with no idea at all for how long you had been captivated?


This afternoon I drove back across the country from east to west, into the sunset. I'd been with some beautiful folk on a retreat in the grounds of a large Sussex estate, letting the powerful messages soak through while we took in the tranquility of the grounds - hiding in a tiny wooden boathouse opening over the edge of a lake (which we swam in at midnight), sitting amongst lavender in a secret prayer garden, feeling and hearing the wind in trees of the thick wood and walking barefoot across blankets of lush green grass.

This is our homeland. It's our fabric and the ground that nourishes us by a sort of osmosis.

This land we live in is a beautiful place, and I can't take in enough of it. It leaves me amazed and transfixed. There's something soulfully inexplicable going on in the way it is appearing at the moment, and I'm finding it very difficult to take my eyes off it.

Hungry to be in the wide open spaces... and if it's okay I just need to go move out of range again and look for a little while longer, try to find something more directive in the mysterious draw of this place I happen to have been born in. Sorry therefore this means the lightbox is a little quiet, but I have a feeling you might understand.


{Today's soundtrack: Soweto Gospel Choir}

Have a piece of ocean on me

Things will be quiet around here for a week as I'm away from wires and transmitters etc, on holiday in a beautiful place, almost as far as I can go before the land runs out. Drop by next weekend for a catch up.

lotsa love
xxx


{Today's soundtrack: me talking to myself while packing}

;;;;;;;;;

Some advice: while you're busy not being overwhelmed, don't prize off one of the lovely, springy keys from your laptop keyboard in order to remove a massive crumb that dropped in from your lunchtime sandwich. Those keys are springy for good reason, and you require a bachelor's degree in airfix to put it back on again. I'm now qualified and studying for my masters.

Moral of Story: Don't eat your lunch while browsing online! How many times have I been told! ;;;;;;; it was only the semi-colon but it still mattered...


{lads to the rescue Soundtrack: RUBY, RUBY, RUBY, RUBY!!}

Peace With You

Here's to not being overwhelmed:


No complex choices,
A straight path ahead of you,
No unfair demands.

Let go the habit
Of detirmined grappling and
Constant striving.



Still waters ahead,
Even undisturbed by rain,
Balanced and level.

Be brave - there is
Nothing in front of you that
You cannot meet with.

Be strong - you are
In exactly the right place,
In perfect season.

Breathe out and breathe in,
Straighten yourself and look out–
Be still and know...




{Today's soundtrack: Thirteen Senses - The Invitation}

Treetops

This is something else that always reminds me of us - as circles of confusion do (see May's archive). It's in the way the leaves layer up, different shapes, some in shade and some almost transparent in the sunlight, shifting over each other and filtering the light to and from the next - covering, protecting, exposing. In the spread of this delicate canopy, some leaves stand out and some sit back, but this is only so far as the breeze or sunlight moves around them and changes the order of things. Nothing can be taken for granted. So they remind me of us.

And on the business of getting high up, I went climbing with another friend, Christian, right through these treetops and found that settling view referred to in last week's post. I find it almost impossible to interpret photographically what happens in those big view moments, but these few images show a little climb preparation, and Christian doing a comedy 'look no hands' pose half way up the route. ha ha. At the top, I sit on a ledge among the top of the tallest trees and loudest birdsong. It's not unusual for a bird to swoop past at eye level, while the scene stretches away down the valley to my right, out to the sea at Weston Super Mare where the sun is now setting.




High up and high. I didn't want to come down, but the point is surely that even a breath of this fits you for the stretch ahead back down on terre ferme...


{Today's soundtrack: quiet thoughts}

Settle

"If I make my bed in the depths,
If I settle on the far side of the sea,
Even there your hand will guide me..."

Sometimes, the best thing to do is head up to the highest point you can find and breathe so deeply that the air fills your toes. There may be a hundred reasons why this is the best thing to do, happy or sad, but in my experience there are few better ways to settle yourself. Doesn't even have to be that high, just a place where the view extends away from those air-filled toes into a distance that is bigger and more mysterious than you... I think it's something about surrender.

(Having said that, the Gormley statues suggest otherwise don't they? Hmm, the plot thickens.)

With all this in mind, I'm off for a few days with a friend to breathe in the cliff top views of Cornwall. We're hoping to find some surf, and much as I'll try to avoid all the photographic clichés for you when I return I can't promise - some things are appealing for good–if simple–reason. An old post from October comes to mind, so leaving you with all this, have a good few days, I'll be back soon!


{Today's soundtrack: Radio 4}

Am I an Alien?

"Ladies and gentlemen we are floating in space."

Is anyone else feeling like a bit of an alien today? I keep feeling as though I'm in orbit, just watching things from a distance and not sure how what I'm doing fits with the rest of the planet. hmmm...that feeling of wanting to sort everything out and not being able to quite reach.

Anyone?

Having been to see the Gormley show at the Hayward Gallery this weekend I am convinced that we all feel like this quite a lot.

It's the most extraordinary thing - standing on the South Bank looking around London's skyline, seeing Gormley's figures stationed on the top of buildings both right above your head and as far as you can stretch your vision into the distance. They're just quietly looking at us. My friend Harry is overwhelmed with the sense of how these static bodies connect the entire landscape with feeling and belonging. I usually find London such an insensitive, thick skinned and unfriendly place, and then suddenly there's a peaceful army keeping an eye on us, holding us in, and perhaps the city's cold arrogance has not managed to fling us sensitive ones out into distant orbit after all.

Inside the gallery is the amazing 'Blind Light' - a cold, floodlit room with perspex walls, full up with steam. Walk in to the middle of the 'blind' whiteness and you have no sense of space whatsoever, another face only visible when it appears out of the fog just two feet away. Your sense of other humans–either wariness or need of them–is so exaggerated, along with the peace in being completely alone. So, here the separation is delightful.

And those sculptures, such tenderness... they provoke a big wondering about the space between us... go see, I just can't fill the rest in for you!

So yes, aliens we all are. Do you feel like an alien? Maybe that's ok.




{Today's soundtrack: PJ Harvey - We Float}

Pin Up

Osyth–one of our photography students–created this small sculpture yesterday while telling me about how uncomfortable she finds the stressful experience of drawing her end-of-year exhibition together. What more can I say about the affection and respect an artist has for rhythm and structure? (See previous post.)


{Today's soundtrack: Scott Matthews again, still so soothing.}

An Order to Things

Appreciate the order of things - they often happen well arranged.

For a slightly wild and impulsive heart, order and structure sometimes feel boring, restrictive, perhaps frightening - a kind of imprisonment. It can feel as though they will rob you of a precious vision, and the energy behind it will be dispersed across other, less interesting preoccupations. Imposed order and structure can feel like a grill across your heart. They are actually the reverse.

Without order, the monument has no sturdy foundation and will topple in the faintest breeze, and without structure the passionflower has nothing to curl its tendrils around in order to climb.


Order encourages patience, structure brings on self-control – necessary framework – and both are wise parents to the most fantastic of dreams. Therefore, be glad when order is taking its lead and let yourself be exhilarated by its rhythm, which builds so that wild hearts may get on and do their work well.


{Today's soundtrack: Scott Matthews - Passing Stranger}

Lie Down

Today, another image from the South Africa street kids book (which I've been working on this week). I've put together a master layout from the edit of 170 images, and seventy double page spreads later and this is all I can think to offer you.

It's been an eventful couple of weeks and I find myself feeling a bit startled. Words of wisdom? Chocolate and wine, and friendly arms are a bonus.

Have a great weekend.


{Today's soundtrack: Soweto Gospel Choir}