Posted on by cheryloreglia · 17 Comments

Landscapes of the Mind

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Our landscapes are formed not only of soil and rock but through the eye of the beholder if you will. For example where I might see a lush structure rooted in the moist soil, it’s plentiful arms reaching towards the sky as if in sacred worship, clothed in a russet silk gown, dancing in the wind as a trail of color carpets the ground.

But the person standing next to me might consider this very same tree an obstruction to his view? It’s absolutely looney (five of you will get this comment).

A diversity of vision so to speak, no right, no wrong, no judgement here.

So in a sense we co-create that which we see, we participate in the unveiling of our world, simply by the depth in which we honor our visual talents. Take another look, what do you really see, how does the landscape speak directly to you? On some level I believe we encounter that which we need, or at the very least we have the opportunity to engage with that which will benefit us most, even if the circumstance brings forth pain and suffering. Think of Jesus…tis the season.

Our world is alive, more woke (to use a millennial term) in many ways than humans, as “we walk on this thin crust above this raging space of life and matter in all its vibrancy and fury, and we know nothing of it,” says Robert MacFarlane. What if we started engaging with our landscape as if she were a beloved spouse? I know this idea might make you shake your head, I can almost see the scowl forming on your brow, and all you want to do is hit the exit button, but stay with me this could be a diamond in the rough. Or simply coal? You never know, I might crush it!

Time seems to shift for me when I’m in nature, or creating something with words, as if I entered a deep sleep, submerged if you will. I remember doing this in the pool when I was little, pretending I was a mermaid, completely surrounded by water, holding my breath until my tiny lungs could bear no more, and I had to surface from my enchanting world. My Mom would literally pluck my water logged body out of the water because I had lost all sense of time, and I’m pretty sure I would still be there in some form or another, if she had not rescued me?

When ever we find a root and follow it back we will think we reached it end but it will branch off and surprise us. Robert Macfarlane.

When I woke this morning and made my way to the living room I noticed the lake was completely hidden by a bank of fog, the density so thick my eyes could not penetrate. The sun had already cleared the horizon, and for some reason the world presented itself in layers of light, brume, and murky darkness as if the stratums of heaven, life, and hell were perfectly portrayed on this sentient canvas.

I find it intriguing how theses realms are close enough as to touch, but clearly delineated, I felt my breadth and width expand, my mind easing into a luxurious stretch, as waves of thought escape the barriers of my body. I really need more coffee don’t you think? As I stood there, a curious thing happened, the fog began to lift, as if a curtain had been pulled away, and that tiny revelation took my breath away.

Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake, walking is not the action by which one arrives at knowledge; it is itself the means of knowing.” Robert Macfarlane

Living by the lush landscapes of Clearlake, if only on the weekends, is enormously sustaining for me. The landscape has driven deep grooves into my psyche (a Robert Macfarlaneism) and I am forever entangled in her unique wisdom. I find it interesting that the places where my eyes rest have a significant impact on my well being. As Robert Macfarlane notes (and I’m paraphrasing), the things which we focus our eyes on opens the chambers of our heart, with spaces that are warm, valves that open and close, and most strikingly the darkness. The landscape doesn’t just surround me it becomes me.

Nothing gives you more joy than when your heart grows wider and wider and your sense of belonging to the universe grows deeper and deeper claims Br. David Steindl-Rast. This lake makes me, she elevates my thoughts, drags me again and again to my computer in attempt to capture this intangible love affair, but words defy the depth of our relationship. She expands my range of thought, and when I think of this in human terms, this is probably the most beautiful thing we can do for each other.

“We tend to think of landscapes as affecting us most strongly when we are in them or on them, when they offer us the primary sensations of touch and sight. But there are also the landscapes we bear with us in absentia, those places that live on in memory long after they have withdrawn in actuality, and such places — retreated to most often when we are most remote from them — are among the most important landscapes we possess.” Robert Macfarlane

When I consider this thought it forces me to return, or look if you will, at that which I allow into my view. This includes the things I watch on television, the people I associate with, and that which I read, because these are the things I carry with me, landscapes of the mind if you will. Jim Rohm coined the phrase “you are the average of the five people you spend the most time with.” This thought makes the claim that people shape you in ways so subtle you might not notice. These select few determine not only the conversations you will have, but the philosophy, and attitudes one uses to encounter life. I agree, this diamond is still rough, keep reading, you have .4 paragraphs to go.

I’ve come to believe the places in which you dwell have an even more profound effect on not only your view of life, but your sense of belonging, and connection. People who live in places where the landscape is largely cement, with uninspired architecture, and little or no green space suffer a deep disconnection with that which is most potent to our well being. These communities often grapple with high levels of stress, mental fatigue, social isolation, and as you would expect obesity rates are staggering.

Robert Macfarlane poses two questions we should ask of any strong landscape:

  1. What do I know when I am in this place that I can know nowhere else?
  2. What does this place know of me that I cannot know of myself?

These infamous words from Psalm 23 seem imbued with new meaning…to not want, to lie down on her warm beaches, to be drawn beside still waters, she restores my soul, to discover the well worn path of good intentions, to dive in, defying the shadow of death, but fearing no evil, for this land has made deep groves in my soul, to find comfort, to resurface, she has provided a place beneath her heavy branches, she shades me, the morning dew anoints my head, my cup runneth over, surely goodness and mercy shall be my companions all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the beauty of nature for ever and ever. (Psalm 23 adapted)

What is your current view, I’m talking about the view just beyond the device with which you are reading, the landscape that you co-create, or carry with you, and why we’re at it – who do you plan on mingling with toady? Being in nature not only reduces anger and fear, but increases our tranquility, our sense of calm, the ability to experience serenity. This happens because our blood pressure decreases, along with our heart rate, muscle tension, and stress levels. Booyah!

Look deeper, think broader, allow your imagination full reign, because these are the things that influence our ability to perceive that which is imperceptible, sacred, consecrated if you will, that which is efficacious to our lives in ways we are only beginning to understand.

I’m Living in the Gap, drop by anytime, you can help me wrap up my thoughts!

Anecdotes:

  • “Paths are the habits of a landscape. They are acts of consensual making. It’s hard to create a footpath on your own…Paths connect. This is their first duty and their chief reason for being. They relate places in a literal sense, and by extension they relate people. Paths are consensual, too, because without common care and common practice they disappear: overgrown by vegetation, ploughed up or built over (through they may persist in the memorious substance of land law). Like sea channels that require regular dredging to stay open, paths NEED walking.” Robert MacFarlane
  • “I looked around at the rooms that I did not see as rooms but more as a landscape for my emotions, a biography of memory.” Anne Spollen
  • “The star-patterns, the grandiose slosh of the Milky Way. Jupiter, blazing low to the east, so brightly that it laid a lustrous track across the water, inviting us to step out onto its swaying surface. The moon, low, a waxing half, richly colored – a red butter moon, setting down its own path on the water. The sea was full of luminescent plankton, so behind us purled our wake, a phosphorescent line of green and yellow bees, as if the hull were setting a hive swarm beneath us. We were at the convergence of many paths of light, which flexed and moved with us as we headed north.” Robert Macfarlane

 

 

 

 

Posted on by cheryloreglia · 20 Comments

A Closer Look

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Come closer, a little closer please, I need you near. My mood is reflective, the bathroom mirror draws me in, as I observe my nakedness through the toothpaste streaked surface.  I carefully scan my gently used skin for irregularities, reflecting on the less than peachy color, a dullness if you will, but mostly what I see is unmasked fear. As I lean over the sink, closer to my reflection, I stare at my estranged features, sometimes familiarity can be so blinding.

I take a hard look, what am I avoiding, what would I prefer not to see? Dean Koontz says, “there’s just something unsettling about studying your reflection. It’s not a matter of being dissatisfied with your face or of being embarrassed by your vanity. Maybe it’s that when you gaze into your own eyes, you don’t see what you wish to see—or a glimpse of something that you wish weren’t there.” Understatement of the year.

I failed my mammogram.

How does one manage to do that you might ask? It has more to do with genetics than talent but in some strange way I do consider it a gift. The truth is it’s most likely benign, I’ve been told fibrous tissues are the classic culprits, but this is when my imagination goes into overdrive, and I find myself contemplating all kinds of implausible scenarios, right up to the message I want engraved on my tombstone. It’s morbid, I’m aware, but I can’t stop my thoughts from traveling to those dark places. I stare into the endless void of my now enlarged irises, I feel numb, that might have something to do with wine, because honestly I would prefer not to feel anything at all.

The word reflection comes from the Latin reflectere, made up of the prefix re-, “back,” and flectere, “to bend.” So it’s bending something back, like your reflection in the mirror, which is simply light waves bouncing your image back at you. This also applies when pausing for reflection, looking deeper, allowing your thoughts to bend inward.

I wonder how many women have been in this very same position, studying their healthy image reflected in the mirror, juxtaposed with the knowledge that some suspicious tissue is lurking just beneath the surface? Shannon Alder notes, “beauty is not who you are on the outside, it is the wisdom and time you gave away to save another struggling soul like you.” This type of fear is held collectively by all women, it’s our ground zero, a place memorialized by grief and suffering. Come closer.

“Water is the most versatile of all elements. It isn’t afraid to burn in fire or fade into the sky, it doesn’t hesitate to shatter against sharp rocks in rainfall or drown into the dark shroud of the earth. It exists beyond all beginnings and ends. On the surface nothing will shift, but deep in underground silence, water will hide and with soft fingers coax a new channel for itself, until stone gives in and slowly settles around the secret space. Death is water’s close companion, and neither of them can be separated from us, for we are made of the versatility of water and the closeness of death. Water doesn’t belong to us, but we belong to water: when it has passed through our fingers and pores and bodies, nothing separates us from earth.” Emmi Itäranta

We’ve been up at the lake for the holiday weekend, the murky water has been a source of endless entertainment, along with my three granddaughters, a couple of adult children, husband, beloved neighbors and a naive sort of ignorance. Autumn is in full swing, I spend my days admiring the surprising varieties of birds preparing to winter in a cushion of plush reeds gathered under the surface of this spring fed water. These beds of reeds cause all sorts of problems for boaters, clogging up the propellers, creating impenetrable boundaries, and spreading like cancer around the lake. 

I’m also enamored with the appealing blanket of amber, rust, and honey colored leaves now carpeting our barren courtyard and the memory of my granddaughters gathering the colorful leaves and gleefully throwing them into the air. Nono thought he was raking and disposing of the debris with his silly granddaughters but he was actually creating cherished memories that will last a lifetime. I watch from a distance, sipping my coffee, warmed by the sound of their giggles. 

There is a strong message about attachment embedded in Fall’s landscape, I cling to the familiar seasonal patterns, and derive comfort from this deep knowing that even though our lives seem scattered like the fallen leaves, the days will shorten, the temperature will drop, and during the winter solstice we’ll emerge from this womb of darkness, imbued with new life, and a huge visa bill. 

What I failed to notice was a missed call on Friday morning, or the one on Saturday afternoon coming from the Breast Care Center in Los Gatos, or the third attempt on Monday while driving through a no service zone on our way home. They said I would receive a call only if something concerning showed up in the images. I remember thinking after the scan, while dressing in the dim stall, what a sad place this is? It’s either no news or bad news. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

Well that and I had promised to treat myself to an egg, cheese, and sausage biscuit breakfast sandwich from McDonalds, a righteous reward for allowing someone to smash my breast into the size of a Swedish a pancake, while I held my breath, and remained perfectly still. It’s absolute torture which only serves to stir ones appetite. 

Personally my preference would be to avoid the entire situation, bury my head in the sand, pretend it never happened. Henry David Thoreau must have known my dilemma when he said a lake is a landscape’s most beautiful and expressive feature. It is Earth’s eye; looking into which the beholder measures the depth of his own nature. I’ve decided my nature is most definitely shallow! Wasn’t it just last night that I marveled at the reflection of the full moon on the rippling surface of the water and thought I had not a care in the world? 

“The moon’s reflection bored into the flat water like a hole into the sea, like the ice well where Tert Card’s father’s hairy devil washed his pots and pans.” Annie Proulx

Sitting shot gun I casually scan my social media accounts, settling into my ergonomically designed seat, as the light slowly fades to dusk. This is when I notice the alert for a missed call from an unrecognized number? This is understandable, my last mammogram was more than six years ago, and I never entered the number into my phone, but they left a message, which I regrettably opened. 

Glancing at my reflection in the window it reminds me of Mary Oliver who said someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift. Darkness is required for a glass surface to be reflective, to bend inward, because sometimes you have to look back in order to understand the things that lie ahead.

Larry says, “call them back now.”

“Now? Honey it’s Veteran’s Day?”

“They called you.”

“True.”

“Call.”

“I would prefer not to.”

I get the look.

I scowl at the reflection mocking me in the window.

“Call.”

“I am, calm your tits.”

He waits quietly while I talk with the scheduler.

“What did they say?”

“My left boob failed miserably and they want a closer look.”

“It’s probably just a precaution.”

“Or insurance fraud.”

“When do you get the results?”

“Right there on the spot.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No, I can manage.”

“I’m going.”

“You have to work.”

“I’ll make arrangements.”

“What if it’s bad news?”

“Then I’ll be there.”

“Can you go without me?”

I acquiesce, because the truth is I don’t want to go alone, we drove the rest of the way home in silence, which can be rather loud even with the lack of noise. I kept feeling myself up, as if I could locate the problem with my finger tips, and ask it to leave, but I’m met with fleshy skin, no noticeable lumps.

John O’Donohue says reflection comes between us and every other person and object in the world. An object or a person can be reflected in so many different ways. Yet the heart of an object or the essence of the heart can never be reflected. All faith and creativity is the hunger to cross over this frontier, it is the desire for pure and total encounter and belonging. Love is an affair between a reflection and its object. I had to read that four times before it started to sink in but damn the man has a way with words. 

Come closer, a little closer please, I need you near.

 

I’m Living in the Gap, drop by anytime, we’ll watch a movie, there will be heavily buttered popcorn, and wine.

Update: I’ve been given the all clear for an entire year. Apparently since I have been delinquent in my mammograms the images on file were vastly different from the current state of my breasts. This is common as we age, this is why I decided to risk exposure, and drag this issue into the light. This is an important screening for women, something we rarely talk about, and clearly one I would prefer to avoid. So get on the phone, schedule a mammogram, share your experience in the comments, it just might encourage others to do the same! Thanks for all the love and good juju – I’m so feeling it. 

 

Anecdotes:

  • “Habit rules the unreflecting herd.” William Wordsworth
  • “The funny thing is that I never see the world any differently through new glasses. I only ever see things differently when I look in the mirror.” Jeff Zentner
  • “What we have before us are some breathtaking opportunities disguised as insoluble problems.” John W. Gardner

 

Posted on by cheryloreglia · 13 Comments

Monkey Minding

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Shuffling between laundry room and recliner I attempt to rid the linens of daily grime, while spinning my brain, as if thrown in the dryer, for a few fibrous thoughts that might end up in the lint catcher. The only thing I’m feeling is agitated and damp, it’s not going well, maybe I need to hang out on line for a while? Let the breeze do it’s thing.

Okay, I’ve wrung this one out for sure.

At least I get my first paragraph down before my attention starts to falter, and I’m dragged into a barrel of monkeys so to speak, reverting to some pre-evolutionary monkey mind. It’s my weakness. Hilary Mantel says, “If you get stuck, get away from your desk. Take a walk, take a bath, go to sleep, make a pie, draw, listen to ­music, meditate, exercise; whatever you do, don’t just stick there scowling at the problem. But don’t make telephone calls or go to a party; if you do, other people’s words will pour in where your lost words should be.” Too late, I not only called my sister, but my daughter, and my manicurist who was much more sympathetic and accommodating!

“What do I mean by weakness? A profound sense of inability, both to do and protect even after great effort, to author, perform, effect what we have wanted or with the success we would have wanted, an inability to secure one’s own future, to protect oneself, to live with clarity and assurance or to ward off shame and suffering.” Rev. Michael J. Buckley, S.J.

I start ingratiating myself with fellow midlife bloggers on-line because it’s a totally legitimate use (waste) of time. Socrates called it akrasia, as in acting against your better judgment, doing one thing even though you know you should do something else.

The truth is I’m trying to make friends with “other” midlife bloggers, some refer to it as networking, but I’m having trouble breaking into this exclusive clique. I feel like I’m back in high school trying out for the cheer squad, but I end up as an alternate (someone they use when a sickness occurs), feeling marginalized much?

And then to top it all off I found out there is a list. That’s right, a list of the top 100 midlife bloggers, all you have to do is submit your blog, and they’ll decide if you make the list or not, then for an additional fee they’ll mingle for you on social media, as if a dating service for bloggers?

I’m sort of stunned. Why haven’t I never heard of this list before? What the hell? It’s like the best kept secret in Twitter Town. It’s as if I’m washing my dedicates by hand, and everyone else is going to the fancy new cleaners. Their linens come back refreshed, folded, and boxed while my wrinkled garments get thrown unceremoniously into the cupboard (I can’t stop spinning the laundry theme). Deal with it.

I want to be listed! You can’t see, but I’m pouting as if a two-year-old, who’s been refused dessert before dinner.

I waiver, credit card in hand (which I don’t need because I have the card memorized – for emergencies of course), fingers hovering over the numbered keys. I’ve never been good at resisting temptation.

Wait a minute, wait a damn minute, it’s as if I’ve been soaking in the pre-wash cycle for too long, all I’ve ever wanted was to make a list, any list, but I thought it would require brilliant verbiage, a post gone viral, or Glennon Doyle’s stamp of approval, not my visa?

I was under the impression the noblest blogging practices meant improving myself so my blog, as if suds, rose to the top of the drum (Keep reading, I promise I will stop).

I slip my card back in my wallet, the list might be out of reach for now, but my ethics remain intact. I can always sign up later if need be, I add the site to my favorites, because at the very least I plan on stalking the top ten bloggers!

“Maybe you get caught up in the little things because you are really trying to distract yourself from having to deal with the big things. Maybe it’s avoidance.” Akiroq Brost

It seems I’m always waiting for some form of distraction to pass, or laundry cycle to end, before I actually get down to my work. C.S. Lewis says the only people who achieve much are those who want something so badly that they seek it while the conditions are still unfavorable, and he should know, he suffered a war injury, and was confounded by the nature of God, but despite all this he published over thirty books, and to date the Narnia books have sold over 100 million copies.

And as far as I know he was not on some confounded list! Lewis said, “true humility is not thinking less of yourself; it is thinking of yourself less.” Ouch.

Writing my way up the list was more of what I had in mind, but damn, it’s tempting – only $9.99 a month – that’s a couple of coffees, or as Erik Pevernagie warns, consumption can be a remedy against boredom and may convey a sense of fictitious power and supremacy, by standing out from the crowd through the extravagance of the expenditure. And then there’s that.

As I argue with myself I consider a little Socratian advice (cuz I can), he had distractions, the poor guy was accused of corrupting the youth of Athens (for some reason I can relate), and they sentenced him to death.  Socrates said she who is not contented with what she has, would not be contented with what she would like to have. I have to get a grip, it’s a list, not a death sentence. Socrates was so chill, he spent his final days with friends, before drinking the executioner’s cup of poisonous hemlock, and went to his death with calmness and poise. But I digress.

Thank God the dryer went off and slapped me back to reality, as I fold the sheets, I realize I don’t need a list to validate my work, although it would be a source of great pride, and at last give me something to brag about, but as Socrates warned, if you don’t get what you want, you suffer; if you get what you don’t want, you suffer; even when you get exactly what you want, you still suffer because you can’t hold on to it forever. Your mind is your predicament or in my case my punishment.

So here’s my delicate conclusion, be true to thine own self, and as Socrates claims the secret of happiness, you see, is not found in seeking more, but in developing the capacity to enjoy less. Like washers and dryers, capacity only matters if you have a lot of dirty laundry, and as we know an unwashed life is not worth living.

Post Blog Update – I got an email today, it appears that I made the Top 100 Midlife Bloggers List without using my visa as status, sadly I’m listed at 103, more like an alternative, we’ll just call it a wash! 

Anecdotes:

  • “Computers are quiet and clean and totally distracting because the Internet is there, lying in wait for a moment of weakness to pounce on your creativity and progress.” Arlaina Tibensky
  • “My insanity begged for a distraction. ” Shannon A. Thompson
  • “Time is short, my strength is limited, the office is a horror, the apartment is noisy, and if a pleasant, straightforward life is not possible, then one must try to wriggle through by subtle maneuvers.” Franz Kafka