And on the inside. . .

The colors are reversed; blue should be on the left, I think, and red on the right if I’m representing veins and arteries. . .I didn’t decide to use blue until I got to that page.

There’s also the efforts at learning the 100 syllable Vajrasattva Mantra. Copying mantras in writing always helps me to learn and contemplate them more deeply.

Then there’s the note-taking that went on during the retreat itself — a big adjustment. Zen practitioners don’t tend to engage that on retreat, but this was more of a teaching/learning retreat. Getting the practices transmitted and solidified within a specific context and background. There was a lot.

IT was a lot. And very necessary.

Sometimes it feels right to leave a page blank. Maybe I’ll come back and fill it in with something.

Or not.

I’ve also begun playing with mandalas. Trying them on for size. I realize I’ve been incorporating mandalas into many things I work on for years now. I love the roundness. The completeness.

This mandala was a response to a post from the Tara Mandala Center about Brooding.

There’s been a lot of that going on this summer. Many, many reasons.

The quote essentially went on to point out that sometimes brooding is necessary; it often happens right before a tremendous time of growth, creative inspiration, or spiritual breakthrough. This has been my experience, too. Sometimes a reminder makes all the difference.

I  love the way the tone of a subject can shift from cool to warm in a heartbeat.

Just the slightest tilt in angle, and the feel is completely different.

 

I have made a lot of books over the last year. Some as commissions, some for a larger body of work, and of course the annual planner that my friends and students enjoy with me. I forget that it’s unusual and recently took it to a job interview. It became an immediate icebreaker.

This is the 2018 planner below:

I rarely make a beautiful book just for my own use as a journal, however. I don’t know  why. As in love as I am with all things books, I struggle with the process of journaling in a “beautiful” book. It’s hard to roll with the process as easily when I’m considering form,   content, writing, etc. Generally, when I write, I’m composing, so I do it on the computer and consider it writing instead of journaling. . .even though it’s really both.

Books as journals and books as art form, however, are two different practices entirely. And journaling in a book instead of on a laptop is yet another major shift in process.

Shifts are good. I needed one.

I decided to create a new journal for myself for a retreat this summer. Away from technology and immersed in natural environments, it seemed like the right time to engage in journaling as a practice. No other retreats I’ve attended encouraged journaling until this one.

Here it is:

This is it.

I really, really love it.  And I had to get over that so that I could actually start writing in it and using it.

To make it, I started with some rusted scraps, the cardboard from some pads of paper, some linen scraps, and some thread from the eco-printing stash.

The paper on the inside of the covers is leftover Christmas wrapping paper that I upcycled for this. I love re-using paper for projects.

It’s coptic stitched with brown waxed linen. The papers inside are a mixture of eco-prints of weeds from Tom’s yard, watercolor paper, black drawing paper, and recycled paper bags.

I’m absolutely in LOVE with the covers. . .

Using it has been SO much fun!!!

I have done some journal writing, note-taking, quote copying, mandala making, sutra copying, etc. It’s got a definite Zen aesthetic, but the practices I’ve been learning of late are from a Tibetan Vajrayana background. . .which is a TOTALLY different aesthetic.

And a totally different practice, as well.

As soon as I can get my phone to communicate with my laptop to update photos, I’ll upload some pics from the inside as well.

 

Working outdoors right now is a craps shoot because of the rain, and a lot like building a house in the Dagoba system because of the humidity. Seriously — the humidity is at 65% right now, and when it’s 85 degrees farenheit, it means you will be soaked through to the skin if you move or breathe outdoors for more than 3 minutes. 

Even so, today I managed to snatch about 3 hours of work and got the East-facing side of the house caught up with the West-facing side: 

It now matches the other side. See? 

  
Can you tell the difference between what I did today and the way it was in the last post? I’ll give you a hint: look at the bottom of the trailer. 

  

This is what the East-facing side (which I worked on today) looked like in the last post:

  
It was a fair bit of work, but it only took about 3 hours. To give you some idea, here’s what I got accomplished in about the same amount of time yesterday:

  
The shingles. Not anything else — just the shingles. (Oh — and the sealing tape around the window.) To get the shingles to fit and line up side by side means climbing up and down the ladder. A LOT. Lots of up and down. See this one shingle that fits so perfectly under the right side of the window?

  
That one shingle required no less than 8 trips up and down the ladder to cut, fit, etc. As I recall, I did the other gable during the late fall and early winter when it felt great to climb up and down the ladder hundreds of times to cut and fit the shingles for the gingerbread effect. It kept me warm and it was artistically fullfilling and fun. 

In this weather — well, frankly, it sucks. 

I’m going to leave that job until it has to be done and pick it up again later on. I made the mistake of thinking I could do it after a hot yoga class yesterday morning and I was SO wrong. After 3 hours of shingle fitting, I was done. For the day. It took major coconut water to recover from that mistake. 

I was really grateful, however, for a break in the weather today — which was not expected.

I really love cedar. It’s so beautiful. Look at the different shades and patterns in the wood. There is a lot of cedar sitting in the interior of the house and it has become the dominant smell when I walk in. If the budget allows, I’m going to put cedar on the walls and ceiling indoors, too. 

  

Another thing about working outdoors in this location (besides just the humidity) is the wildlife . . .by which I mean bugs. 

They’re everywhere. 

Even if I have only just put down a stack of wood that came out of the car, when I pick it up again, there will inevitably be several creatures that accompany it onto the sawing table. In order to be non-harming, they have to be noticed and moved.  They’re the neighbors. They’re not going anywhere anytime soon. 

The mosquitoes and no-see-em’s are also neighbors that seem not to want to go anywhere anytime soon, but the tiki torches help a lot to deter their presence, as does the deep-woods bug repellent. 

Not all of the neighbors are nearly so annoying, however, and some of them are kind of cute and interesting. When I lifted the tarp to go higher with the cedar T&G today, for example, I ran into this guy again. 

  

He likes it under there. Lots of bugs to eat, as I may have mentioned already. (!) The last time I saw him, about two weeks ago, he was on the actual roof in the same location.

  
That was about 3 weeks ago, though . . .  So . . . either he grew (which they do a lot of during the summer) or it’s just a different froggie who happens to like that side of the roof. 

There’s also this ninja toad that darts around under the house:

  
He’s so quick and so black that he blends in with everything. You just see movement out of the corner of your eye and when you look again, there’s nothing there. I managed to catch him this time, however, although we wouldn’t be able to see him without the flash.

And (WARNING: Arachnophobes beware!) there is a Wolf Spider that’s become rather territorial about the scrap pile:

  
She’s pretty big, actually. But as intimidating as she looks, she’s a serious neighborhood ally alongside the frog and the toad. They all eat mosquitoes and bugs, so as far as I’m concerned they’re part of the team. Wolf spiders are pretty harmless, too, and gentle natured, apparently. 

Unless they don’t want you messing with their wood pile. 

Ah, well. We all have priorities. 

And we all have nuissance neighbors, too, right? 

Well — aside from the mosquitoes, there are Vandal Squirrels. They are into destroying all kinds of stuff and aren’t nearly as happy to share space as the rest of the neighborhood. I don’t understand these little bastards, but I need to get a door installed ASAP to keep them at bay. Here’s what they did to my sweet little fairy lights: 

  
I’m still finding little bits and pieces of those lights around and under the house. 

I also replaced my tool belt for the second time today. The first belt was canvas with leather on it. They ate it. It was winter. I get it. They were hungry and food was likely in short supply. It doesn’t explain the lights, but still. 

The second tool belt they ate was once my dad’s. Check out what they did:

   
   
I kid you not — they did it just last night. I wore it yesterday with no problem.  

Frankly – once they start in on a tool belt, a little more disappears day by day until it’s entirely unusable, so I replaced it with this one today when I went out to get more cedar. 

  
It’s not canvas and its’s not leather or suede, so I’m hoping they’ll leave it alone. I’ll leave the other leather one out so they can eat it, and hopefully be distracted away from my new tool belt, which I’d like to use. 

Presently, there is also a squatter in the tiny house, which is another reason to get the door put on sooner rather than later. I had to use my flash to get this next picture because it’s dark and overcast outside, and there aren’t any lights in there yet. When I went into the house today to gather tools, etc, I moved some wood against the wall and the “squatter” went flying out. 

  
The ladder was outdoors at the time or I would’ve climed up into the loft to get a look in there since it’s right next to the loft. 

I’ve decided that as long as there are no eggs, the squatter is OUT.  I’ll be going in tomorrow even if it rains to finish installing angle ties at various joints throughout the house, so I’ll get a chance to look in on it. 

If there are eggs in there, however. . . well, I’ll probably let her stay and get the little ones seen to until they’re independent. . . and THEN — the whole lot of them are out. 

(If that’s the case, you’ll be getting lots of updates about the “renters”.)

*sigh*

Although it’s pretty awesome all told, the whole truth has to include serious physical discomfort of the kind that would make most people really cranky, unhappy, uncomfortable, and resentful — which is why I don’t invite over many helpers. Assuming it were possible to plan around the rain so as to avoid jerking around someone’s schedule for days or weeks at at time, they’d still be coming over to “help” in really uncomfortable conditions that would be untenable for someone with a low tolerance for bugs and creepie-crawlies.  Because they’re everywhere. 

Remember how cranky Luke Skywalker got when he was stuck in the Dagoba system visiting Yoda? Remember how there were things crawling over everything and it was really damp and humid and mucky? Well, that’s not far from the truth of what it’s like down there right now. I may not be training to be a Jedi Knight under these conditions (which would make anyone cranky — let’s face it), but building a house in it is definitely a Jedi lesson of sorts. Many things will look easy after this. 

I don’t mind the creepie-crawlies and non-vandalizing neighbors so much, but the biting insects combined with the heat and humidity make for a pretty uncomfortable day’s work. I just pulled a tick (attached!) out of my hair as I was writing this, in fact. 

There’s really no option but to accept the terms and conditions, and do your best if you have no choice, which is what I do. Most of the time it doesn’t bother me too much. But if I had a choice, I’d probably choose to go to the pool or do something else that’s less uncomfortable. 

Also, it’s fine if I’m just managing my own work and discomfort; I usually even enjoy it now. After the springtime clean-out of the creek culvert a few weeks ago, most outdoor jobs look pretty good by comparison. That was a hot, dirty job that would likely have given Mike Rowe a run for his money. Fortunately, we got to it before all of the heavy rains started up, or the resulting flooding would’ve been seriously problematic for us and our neighbors. I’m really, really glad we did this when we did; if we’d waited any longer I’m not sure how it would’ve gotten done. We caught a brief moment when there wasn’t any water in the creek on that side, and the culvert was completely blocked over with heaps of leaves, branches and even a 15 foot tree — all of which had come from upstream. Armed with pitchforks and gloves, Dad and I dove in. Here’s the before picture: 

  
I don’t have an after picture, but perhaps I should get a “current” one for comparison. With all the rain we’ve had here over the last month, I’m so grateful that we’re not confronting problems with flooding. So many people are right now. We also have the fortune not to be confronted with drought, for which I am also grateful. 

So for the mean time, I’m pretty happy pretending to be Luke Skywalker in the Dagoba system with my very own version of an R2 unit. But most of you know him as Noah.  He’s pretty good company, actually, and never complains, unlike the real R2D2. 

Noah spends most of the day just like this:

  

It makes him about as useful as R2D2 was in a similar environment, but much cuter and no sass. Small breaks to throw his ball again make him soooooo happy! They’ve become little opportunities to check in, be mindful, and reconnect to what’s all around. Noah’s always been the most effective, loving mindfulness teacher. No joke.

 As I write this, indoors, clean and dry, the weather radio is going nuts and now it looks like this outside:

  

So much to be grateful for. 

 

The last week has been a humbling reminder of why I chose to step away from a particular cultural expectation to which I could no longer safely conform: “busy-ness”.

Being “busy” is stressful. It takes a toll on your health, relationships, peace of mind, and many other things that it’s easy to be distracted from noticing when we’re in the trance of “busy-ness”. I could say a great deal about it, but most of what I would have to offer can most easily be summed up by Thomas Merton:

“There is a pervasive form of contemporary violence to which the idealist most easily succumbs: activism and overwork. The rush and pressure of modern life are a form, perhaps the most common form, of its innate violence. To allow oneself to be carried away by a multitude of conflicting concerns, to surrender to too many demands, to commit oneself to too many projects, to want to help everyone in everything, is to succumb to violence. The frenzy of our activism neutralizes our work for peace. It destroys our own inner capacity for peace. It destroys the fruitfulness of our own work, because it kills the root of inner wisdom which makes work fruitful.” 

I wish — deeply — that I could say that this isn’t true.

But I can’t.

Right now, I’m doing my utmost to stay presently engaged and mindful. It’s hard work. I’ve been excessively busy of late — taking on too many projects, trying to “help everyone in everything”. My inner capacity for peace has been seriously reduced. Thankfully, I am catching it before it has been destroyed.

The scariest thing about this sort of “violence” is how sweetly and covertly it operates on us. It doesn’t slam into us suddenly, although we often experience its effects in that manner. No — it has a subtle way of luring us, little by little, into doing more and more. . . until we’re running to keep up and so overwhelmed that something has to give under all the weight of obligation. We look frantically for something or someone to blame for our condition, unable to see our part in the whole picture. Like the story so often told about the little froggy who doesn’t realize he’s being boiled alive until it’s too late — we often find ourselves in boiling water wondering when our delightful dip in the hot tub started to scald our flesh.

In my current situation, what’s surprised me the most is the way in which the “busy-ness’ crept up. It’s come from positive, fun, engaging projects that I’ve dreamt of doing for a long time. Building my own home, for example, and finding a way to live that is financially and ecologically sustainable, and that will allow the freedom to make more creative, service-oriented, non-conventional choices so that I can lead a more contemplative life. Exciting art commissions, invitations to direct plays and take part in artistic collaborations, opportunities to mentor younger artists — also things I’ve wanted a part of for quite some time.

In other words — everything I’m taking part in is something I want in my life. They are things I have chosen very mindfully. Things that are in total harmony with the way I’ve re-visioned my life since choosing to walk away from convention and the status quo. And yet — despite this — the effect is as frighteningly the same as it was in an earlier part of my life.

It may seem really extreme to refer to being busy as “violence”. That’s understandable. But when you think about the actual effects of violence, it becomes much harder to deny — regardless of their cause. When we experience the effect of an undeniably “violent” act, for example, we might feel crushed, defeated, afraid, panicked, victimized, anxious, exhausted, traumatized, immobilized, breathless, or gasping for breath. Later on, depending on the source of violence, we might feel depressed, achy, sore, emotional, irrational, angry, indignant, defensive, highly sensitized, overwhelmed, paranoid, jumpy, or unable to leave the house.

At another time in my life, when I was easily motivated into action by the dangling carrot of “success”, the more “violent” aspect of being over-committed was easier to spot. When over-committed, my behavior became cranky, abrupt, and much time was spent with friends and family complaining about how crushed, defeated, angry, overwhelmed, and victimized I felt. There was no space to cope with unexpected events, which easily became insurmountable obstacles sent to block my way forward. I was visibly stressed to those who knew me only in passing.  In the midst of all this difficulty, I’d seek further “pleasant” distraction in the hopes of somehow feeling better. Eventually — exhausted and spent — I’d give up and collapse in tears, not wanting to leave the house for a few days . . . only to get up and do it all over again.

Reading this, you might think that such a method of coping sounds crazy. Worse — it could be the very definition of insanity.

You’re right.

At the same time, I would imagine that there are likely many who recognize themselves in that description. It’s not particularly pleasing to see about ourselves; few of us would feel very good about admitting that we’ve been driven to such extremes. After all, we’re supposed to be “busy” with a smile on our faces, feeling good about all of our “achievements”.

When we’re over-loaded with tasks, expectations, motivations, responsibilities, and obligations — our nervous system experiences them no differently than any other kind of violent assault. Then, when the over-load begins to subside, we begin to experience some of the after-effects of violence. We become anxious or restless — waiting for the next thing to be lobbed in our direction. We cannot just sit still and “be” because what if it’s not enough? What if we’ve missed something? What if the next attack comes and I’m not prepared?

Building a tiny house is a dream come true. An art commission that requires the specific and disparate set of skills i’ve spent a life-time acquiring is, too. Teaching movement and dramatic lit and devising a play with beautiful, inspiring young people is a blessing too big to quantify. When I found myself inexplicably gasping for air whilst sitting down the other evening, however, the shock of that discovery jolted me back into my body. I could see instantly that it was imperative to find the gentlest, swiftest way off that train.

And so that journey once again begins in earnest. The sorting out of what needs putting down, what can be prioritized differently, and whether or not the stress I’m perceiving could be managed another way. Without that core of a spacious, open heart and mind, I’m not much good to all of the people I love so much. A life without space, without a peaceful heart and body-mind; a life that cannot gently reach out to adjust the sails as the prevailing winds change (as they always do), isn’t much of a life at all.