Mandala as Container – The Past

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Emperor Flow © 2016 Bo Mackison

Second in a series of 5 mandalas created after naming “creative path” as my intention.  Each morning for five days I paired a mandala with a Desert Wisdom Card and then reflected on a question. I followed this with a freewrite keeping the intention “creative path” in mind.

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Challenge – A Desert Wisdom Card © 2014 Bo Mackison

2: THE PAST. WHAT NEEDS TO BE RELEASED?

MANDALA: EMPEROR FLOW

DESERT CARD: CHALLENGE

Masculine energy. Power and control.

What needs to be released? The attempt to control in the midst of challenges. Let go, release the need to control, go with the flow.

There is power in intuition, in the allowing AND there is fear in the flow, in the release. The challenge is, and has been, to allow the flow and the ebb, the stagnation and the flood.

Fear? Allow the fear to flow, to move through, allow the fear to be acknowledged. In its acknowledgement is the allowance for its release?

Set aside the rules and regulations and tight control. Listen to intuition and invite sensuality. Embrace creative energy instead of dominance and rigidity. Accept support and nurturing.

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Coming in the next post, Day 3. The Future and The Next Step

Mandala as Container – The Present

Nesting © 2016 Bo Mackison

Nesting © 2016 Bo Mackison

I went on a solo writing retreat at the Christine Center in the Northwoods of Wisconsin for a few days. While there, I spent much time not writing, but instead creating personal art. I worked in the studio in conversation with other women led by Gabriel Uhlein OFM, artist and workshop facilitator. I’d intended to use my time in the mandala studio as a break from writing. Instead, allowing for and following the creative call, I spent many hours each day creating mandalas.

Following Gabriel’s suggestion, I spent studio time before beginning, naming an intention. And the intention that showed up? “Creative Path”

I did a series of 5 mandalas allowing for “whatever” to come forth. When I returned home, I paired the mandalas with Desert Wisdom Cards, then reflected on a different question for five consecutive days. I followed this with a freewrite keeping the intention “creative path” in mind.

Hope. A Desert Wisdom Card © 2014 Bo Mackison

Hope. A Desert Wisdom Card © 2014 Bo Mackison

1:  THE PRESENT. WHERE I AM NOW?

MANDALA: NESTING

DESERT WISDOM CARD: HOPE

Three eggs – physical, mental, spiritual.

Incubation. Waiting for birth, waiting to emerge, the wait. Snake protects, she guards in this time of transition.

Transition, threshold of staying safe in the nest, safe in the dark and protected, safe and hidden, and waiting, there is waiting. Now, it is time, the breaking open, come into the light, those first steps, that first vision.

Call upon protection, call upon the strength that is within. Hold onto hope. Yes this is a time of breaking open, a breaking, it feels too open, too out in the brightness. How can I see in this too bright place? My inclination is to hide, but instead I can unfurl a bit at a time. There is no need to break apart while breaking open. Open just a bit. Hold on. There is movement and strength in the tenderest of openings.

Transformation is damn scary work. Hold on. Ease in. Be brave.

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Coming in the next post, Day 2. The Past and What Needs to Be Released

Conversation with a Saguaro

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I will be waiting here
for your silence to break
for your soul to shake
for your love to wake.
~ Rumi

A Conversation with a Saguaro

Hello Bo, you’ve been talking to me now for several years.

Not sure how you chose me to be your confidante when you set up your make-shift office in the ramada near Brown Mountain, but I’ve watched you working in the shelter, taking breaks from writing or sketching. Wandering over to me, standing in my shadow now for — what? — maybe 4 years? Or 5? Doesn’t matter.

I am here for you. I welcome your visits, whether you come by for a daily chat or a weekly sermons or an annual sojourn for a long conversation. All are good, Bo.

We’ve had some heart to heart conversations, haven’t we?

You surely did not hear words echo from my spines, nor did my prickly arms sweep you from the gravelly ground and hold you in a compassionate embrace. But you may as well have heard such, felt such, for the same is true.

I do hear you and I do speak to you. I do hold you in a caring embrace. When you are happy, I celebrate your joys. When you are pensive, I listen to your thoughts. When you are sad, I offer you companionship.

I am a good companion, Bo. I will not be going anywhere soon, unless the fates intervene. Unlikely though. Saguaros in this part of the Sonoran Desert live a good 150-200 years. I’ve got years left to stand here on this blessed earth.

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I see you, Bo. You are troubled. I see your tears. I watch as you stand in the desert valley, still and somber.  Go ahead, if you wish. Wail in your loneliness and fear and, yes, even in anger. Yes. You have permission. Cry out as loudly as you need to, as long as you desire.  Shout in frustration and anger.

I see you holding everything inside, bearing excruciating pain deep within, convincing yourself you are not too hurt nor too unhappy. I hear as you attempt to dismiss your feelings. No need, Bo. No need. You have permission to express your feelings. ALL of your feelings.

Stand in my shadow. Let the healing light of the desert sun stream all about you, warm you, but stand in my shadow. I will protect you from the harshest of glare.

I hear the conversation you speak within. You hold on to the deepest of disappointments, believing you have not carried your weight, you have not shown up fully in life. You have experienced vast betrayal, yet you inscribe your shortcomings deep within. You hold onto that litany of failures like a sacred mantle; you take on the burden of shame.

What if I tell you this? “You are not to blame, Bo. You are worthy of nurturing. You are worthy of love. You are worthy of kindness. You are worthy of respect. You are worthy, Bo. Period.”

I know of your concerns and worries, Bo. I feel your grief.

I, too, have felt grief, standing in this very spot for over a century. Let’s think about that, Bo.

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I am a miracle, as are you.

Imagine a time so many years ago.

Not far from here, a tall saguaro blooms in the middle of a hot May. Pure white blossoms the size of saucers adorn her head. She is an elder saguaro and has been witness to much; her lower-half is pock-marked with holes and her lower flesh is wrinkled, worn, discolored from once desert green to a mottled brown-black.

And still, she blossoms on a hot night in late spring.

The white-winged dove, the Mexican long-nosed bat, and hundreds of species of bees and butterflies sip her nectar by the light of the full moon and pollinate her flowers. Each white blossom lasts only a day, then shrivels and falls to the desert earth. And in the flower’s place a large fruit grows, queenly and regal, bejeweled, the deepest of deep reds. The fruit is sweet and juice-filled, beloved, sustenance for coyote, javelina, the curve billed thrasher, cactus wren, birds of great variety.

Perhaps a bird sits on a branch of a potential nurse tree and drops a single seed into the receptive earth. The seed finds adequate protection and is blessed with enough rain to germinate and enough sun to help it grow and just enough luck to escape detection by birds and pack rats and desert mice who would gladly eat it for a tasty meal. A miracle indeed. I begin as a tiny seed and I grow into a cactus fifty feet tall.

I am a miracle, as are you.

A cactus produces 40 million seeds over a lifetime, and if lucky, one or two will germinate, grow, and survive long enough to become a saguaro capable of flowering and fruiting and continuing the legacy.

I am the one in 40 million, come alive from a single fallen seed from a long dead saguaro. As you, too, have been birthed from one in millions.

Blessed are we, yes? Truly. We are chosen.

Chosen. Blessed. Grateful.

And still, we both know sadness and longing and desire; we both know grief and fear and anger.

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Let’s talk about grief.

We both know much of grief, yes?

I grieve when humans attack me and damage me for no reason other than a mark of their power and proof of their superior ability to destroy. I’ve been spray painted by gang members who chose to prove their blind ability to follow orders. I’ve had initials carved into my flesh by lovers who thought nothing of desecrating my flesh in order to misguidedly honor their love. I’ve had bullets shot through me and a more than a few bullets remain lodged in my flesh, bullets shot by humans who once again used violence and power to maim me as an odd proof of their bravery.

And still, I stand.

Regal. Beloved. Worthy. As are you.

No matter if others have scarred you for life, have left their marks in your flesh and trampled your spirit; have attempted repeatedly to destroy you, to mark you as less-than. No matter.

You, Bo, are still worthy of love. You deserve all manner of kindness and respect. You matter. You, Bo, are whole, are holy. Yes, Bo. You.

Come stand next to me and rest. Take respite from the sun’s strong midday heat. Come rest in my shadow. I will listen. I will embrace you in kindness and love.

I offer you myriad blessings of the desert.

All shall be well.

Writing from the Center – A Poem

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The Poet Watches © 2014 Bo Mackison

the poet watches
the branches shake the yellowed leaves
she watches the leaves scatter,
some rustle along the path
others snag in a ragged patch of grass.

she watches.  this coming season of cold and decay
of the first snowfall, the winds, the frozen landscape
exposed, sharp silhouettes of branches.
frost-bitten garden sagging under the weight of
dead flower stalks and ice crusted snow.

she watches, and silence breaks open
so much change. yet. alive.

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writing from the center
in the center of the temple, a labyrinth
in the center of the labyrinth, desertlands.

sun ablaze, high noon heat
anxiety dissipates in the arid breeze.
where is the safe space?
a perimeter protected by cacti tangled,
various structures and textures
occasional blooms,  fuchsia-orange roses.
hummingbirds dart amidst bees.

safe. protected. alone, heart beat though erratic,
I find protection. from whom? from what?

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cocoon, hide within the dark. they say.
if i do not speak, I cannot be heard, cannot be hurt
by words, or looks, or judgements.

i cannot be denied, cannot be touched.
no feelings exist for no one knows.

yet
it is when i am not seen, when i am not heard,
the pain spreads like toxic fluids touched on fire by the sun

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Refreshed © 2014 Bo Mackison

there is a place of safety within,
my words my protection.
my knowledge my salvation.
my awareness my life line.

step into the world,
ablaze. speak. act. be visible.

fire burns away old perceptions which pronounce
i am not enough. flames explode,

I step from the ashes, out of the charred remains,
step into the dawn, carrying the empty urn.

Writing Your Life Story Part 7: Jump Start Your Memoir

Benches in a Formal Garden © 2010 Bo Mackison

Action does not always require a large commitment.

It doesn’t need a complicated plan or a large chunk of your time. Many things, including adding daily writing to your day, can be done in small steps. Carve fifteen minutes out of your morning to write a hundred words and in a month you will have accumulated 3,000 words.

A few minutes of daily writing turns a few dozen sentences into a wealth of memories and information.

Here are three writing actions that can be done in 15 minutes segments of time. If the prompts lead you on a path you decide not to follow, then you have only invested a few minutes. Stop. Try a different prompt or technique. Not every prompt works for every writer. But if you strike a rich writing vein, you can always write longer than planned.

The words will add up quickly, and you will have stories, free-flowing thoughts, ideas, glimpses of the past, snippets of descriptions — all inspiration to add to your life story project.

Pick an action and start writing today.

Action #1. Write for 15 minutes describing what you and your immediate family were doing when you heard about or experienced a newsworthy event. Pick one that affected a large number of people in the world. Perhaps you watched a global event on television, like the tearing down of the Berlin Wall or when man first walked on the moon.

Action #2. Write about an event that affected only a few people on a personal level. Perhaps it was the birth of a long-awaited baby, a move to a new home, or the loss of a job. Or write about an event that happened in your hometown or the death of a person in your community that affected you deeply.

Action #3. Another technique for zeroing in on a specific event, and then expanding on its effect, is to do short interviews – only one to three questions in length – with several people who experienced the same event. Asking people of different ages and stages in life can highlight the similarities and differences that an event had not only you, but on other people in your life. This exercise adds meaning and depth when viewed from several perspectives.

An example: putting Action #3 into action.

I choose a difficult topic for Action # 3. I asked family members questions about 9/11, the World Trade Center tragedy in New York City that occurred over a decade ago. I asked them to recall their memories of that day. I purposely chose family members from three generations.

When the event happened in 2001, the family members I interviewed were: a 76-year-old woman living in a small town in the Midwest; a 46-year-old businessman who was working in a downtown Chicago skyscraper when the event happened; a 20-year-old college junior studying at the University of Michigan; and a 13-year-old living at home and in middle school.

I asked two questions.

First, a personal question: “What were you doing when you first heard about the 9/11 tragedy?”

Second, a perspective question: “How did you think this event would affect you, your family, and/or your country?”

Here are a few excerpts from the interviews:

“…didn’t even know about it til the evening news. I’d been in the garden…never in my life we ever have such an enemy on American soil…I thought maybe soldiers would be coming, maybe we’d have a war…”

“…was working on the 45th floor of the Sears Tower, one of Chicago’s skyscrapers…we had to evacuate. Walk down the stairs, take nothing with us except our briefcases. Stopped traffic jammed the streets and people crowded the sidewalks. When I reached the train station, the trains weren’t running…I was in a park-and-drive 40 miles from the station…I was 150 miles away from my home and family…desperate to get home. I figured it would be better once we were all together.”

“I was getting ready to go to class and I saw a bunch of kids crowded around the TV in our lounge. I stopped to see what they were looking at. While I watched the TV, I saw the second plane…I didn’t understand. Then I was in shock. We all were. None of us went to class after that…we watched the TV all day and all night.”

“I remember I was in eighth grade. My teachers kept whispering in the hallways all day and kept saying “don’t worry.” Except we didn’t know what we weren’t supposed to worry about, so we worried a lot…parents started coming and taking  kids out of school… during my last class of the day, my history teacher brought a TV into class and finally told us. We talked about what happened… I didn’t get it. I didn’t have a clue until I went home and talked to my Mom. But I still didn’t really understand.”

With the experiences of others added to my interpretation of the day’s events, it presents a vivid picture of that time in history from different perspectives. It adds depth to the story and helps ground the events in real time.

Try one or more of the above prompts. Set your timer and start writing. Or  do an impromptu interview.

Next: Part 8, Memoir and Photography