Twilight and Transition – Shadows Deepen Upon the Earth

August 1, 2014 by 2 Comments
Prairie Twilight

Wisconsin Twilight © 2014 Bo Mackison

“I love that the morning’s sunrise does not define itself by last night’s sunset.” ~ Steve Maraboli

Last evening, twilight was not a fiery, orange blaze sunset, filling the sky with colors indescribable.

It was instead of red ball burning through the haze of clouds, dropping off the horizon in grays with streaks of pinks. A quiet affair, as sunsets go. Still awe-inspiring. Always awe-inspiring.

I watch every sunrise and sunset, weather permitting. It is ritual for me.

They mark the beginning and the end of each day cycle for me, not only their beauty, but deeply in my consciousness. Beginnings. Endings.

Tonight ends and so ends this day, and I have done all I can.

Morning comes and I begin yet another day. What opportunities will this day offer? What opportunities will I accept? No comparisons required, no “this sunset was better than yesterday’s sunset”.

Each sunset – magnificent. Every sunrise – a blessing and a gift.

Endings and beginnings.

It is a lesson repeated daily. It’s easy to grasp on to what is, resistant to what is yet to come. And still sunrise follows sunset, endlessly throughout our brief time on this earth.

Always an ending, always a beginning.

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Transitions – Saying Good Bye and Thank You

July 14, 2014 by 4 Comments
Desert Labyrinth

Labyrinth Connection © 2013 Bo Mackison

“Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.”
from an Irish headstone” ~ Richard Puz

Today my dear cousin and friend died unexpectedly.

Karen was the girl cousin closest to my age and we were fast friends from the time we were young children.

She loved her solitude in a way few people truly understand, and yet she was one of the most generous and kind people I have known.

Although she worked in a bank in the days of the first computers — computers that were so delicate they required special air controlled rooms, often were “down” for unknown reasons, and did surprisingly little compared to the smart phone we now routinely accept as a part of our lives — and she worked with computers when employed, she never herself owned a computer.

She didn’t have a Facebook account, she didn’t write emails, she didn’t have internet accounts. Her phone was just advanced enough to transmit photographs and send text, but she only did so on special occasions.

More typically she wrote letters, talked to her friends and family on the telephone, did her business with paper and pencil, checks and the post office.

My first vivid memory of her is not exactly a flattering memory for me, but I remember it in color and detail. And so I will share it.

I was nine years old; she was nearly twelve. Her family lived on the other side of the Mississippi River, thirty or so miles away from town, and so family visits were special, all day affairs. I was an only child, and so when I knew Karen was coming to town I would plan a day of activities, the kind of play that required two kids, not one. Often we would play our way through a pile of board games.

One October day, Karen and her family came for a visit. I had the pile of games ready. On the top of the pile was a less than classic game involving a cartoon character called Huckleberry Hound. I had the table set with the game board, in excited anticipation. But Karen didn’t want to play with me that day. All she wanted to do was hold my newborn sister. Oh, the pangs of jealousy flared their green eyes that day!

The novelty of a newborn didn’t last long, however, and we were soon the best of pals again.

Transition - A Desert Wisdom Card

Transitions © 2014 Bo Mackison

There are simply too many memories to recount, but they are preciously held in my memory. If I were to describe her, I would use words such as kind, generous, and always grateful for the little things in her life.

If I sent her a card with one of my photographs, she would send me a thank you note for the card. We exchanged letters, especially when she knew I was in Arizona and on my own.

When my grand-daughter was born, Karen shared in the excitement, and joyfully noted every sent photograph, not with a simple word of thanks, but a paragraph comparing father and daughter, a noted dimple, a funny expression.She would tell me how the photograph brightened a rather ordinary day.

This past week she was admitted to the hospital for tests. Nothing serious, she said. She asked for new photographs so she could show the nurses in the hospital a baby she’d never met, but nonetheless loved.

I sent new photos on Friday and we messaged back and forth.

This morning the call came. Karen’s heart had stopped and she could not be resuscitated.

This afternoon I walked a nearby labyrinth and said my goodbyes to Karen. The labyrinth was…a thin experience? I talked to Karen, not really talking to her, but I did say my goodbyes to her, shed more than a few tears. As I walked away, I felt a calming and a peace I have not felt for many a week.

Good bye, dear Karen. I miss you already. And thank you.

 

 

Filed Under: Art of Healing Tagged With: , ,

Tackling Transitions

April 16, 2013 by 10 Comments
Twilight, Roosevelt Lake, Arizona

Twilight, Roosevelt Lake @2013 Bo Mackison

I go to nature to be soothed and healed, and to have my senses put in order. ~ John Burroughs

Transitions! I’ve learned that when dealing with transitions, I need to give myself some space and some extra self-care. In order for me to keep moving forward, I take baby steps. Even then, I occasionally feel as if I cannot take one more step. What is uncomfortable becomes uneasiness, then verges on panic, and I want to cry out, “I can’t do this!” —  exactly the place I’ve worked hard to move away from.

So in the wee hours of Saturday, I decided that fretting about my upcoming transition from Southwest to Midwest was unhelpful. Worry seldom, if ever, leads to positive results.

I needed to get out of my head. One of the ways I’ve learned to do that is to get on the road. So I packed clothes, food, and my camping gear, and by mid-morning I was on a mini road-trip.

I traveled north, stopped to see an ancient Hohokam site at Casa Grande National Monument. I walked around the ruins, most probably a gathering place for these ancient Desert People. It was quiet and sunny, and the lizards and I enjoyed studying the ruins, imagining life as it was then, long days of work to provide the basics for living.

Then I headed east, through Globe, and followed the ascending road into Tonto National Monument. I walked the mile trail to another ancient site, the 700 year old Lower Cliff Dwelling. I wondered in awe at the Salado, the adaptable people who thrived in a dry and harsh environment and built housing with creative solutions for safety, tucking their homes high above the ground along the rim of a cave. I wondered how the young children and the elders managed the ladders and multiple levels of living space.

The wildflowers were blooming wildly and the riotous effect made me laugh. Orange, pink, bright blur, lavender, red, purple and yellow – a spectacle of colors!

Western Rattlesnake, Sunning Itself Mid-Road

Western Rattlesnake, Sunning Itself Mid-Road © 2013 Bo Mackison

As I was leaving the park, I saw a rattlesnake coiled, sunning itself in the middle of the road. I stopped to take some photos. I watched as an oncoming car sped down the mountain road and nearly hit the snake. With amazing speed, the snake transformed from sun-sleeping to its attack mode, an instinctive dance of sorts, rising up nearly vertical in the air, striking, rattling. I watched from my car, safe from harm, but it was an amazing show of the snake’s natural response to threat. I was stunned and thrilled, simultaneously.

Though I enjoyed the hikes and nature experiences, late afternoon began to turn to early evening, and the internal quiet I sought remained elusive.  Moving out of my comfort zone, I chose to camp in an isolated site, separated from other campers, and with a view high above Roosevelt Lake.

I lit a small camp fire – there was a pile of dry cedar at the site left by the last campers. I listened to a CD of Native American flute music, Walk Between Worlds, by Golana, gentle and evocative. The sun slipped behind the Superstition Mountains, and the reflected pinks and oranges and blue-grays in the sky were the very colors of the glowing embers in the fire pit.

Finally! The combination of setting sun, campfire, and flute music worked its magic. My heart stopped racing and my breathing calmed, and I sat there, thinking, “I am OK. I can manage.”

I’d paid attention, my instincts were good – they led me to a calming place.

While I watched the camp fire shoot sparks and dancing flames, I thought of lighting candles, lighting them with intention. My campfire was burning with intention, too. It reminded me that, even though I experience times of discomfort and feeling lost, I can hold strong my intentions that I am whole and good, and that through my creative efforts, I can make a difference in my life and in the lives of others.

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Bo Mackison is a photographer and owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC.  She’s finding strength and inspiration in the desert, and she’s working on transition skills. (More photos of the National Monuments to come…)

 

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5th Annual Photo Alphabet – Part V

December 30, 2012 by 9 Comments

R is for Ritual and Routine.

Early Morning Coffee in the Desert

Early Morning Coffee in the Desert © 2011 Bo Mackison

I have an unusual ritual in the Sonoran Desert. Some might think of it more as a routine – brewing the early morning coffee – but when I brew my first cup of coffee after a night of desert camping, it truly is elevated to the level of ritual.

The assembly of the tiny backpacker stove. The measuring of water from my water supply. The finding of the matches — which usually provides a modicum of panic. The boiling of the water. The measuring of the coffee grounds, safely stored in the bottom of my coffee cup/coffee press. The boiling water poured into the coffee press, the cup tightly closed, plunging the press, waiting the ten minutes for the coffee to brew. And finally sipping that first early morning coffee.

If any one is wondering why I might need coffee while camping in the desert, keep in mind early morning in the winter desert is usually 30˚ to 40˚F, often even colder. That first cup of coffee is like a bit of heaven. Routine, yes. And ritual.

S is for Shadows and Self-portrait.

Shadow Photographer

Shadow Photographer © 2012 Bo Mackison

I have a fascination with taking photos of shadows. They might be photos of leaf shadows on a wall, a repetitive fence shadow on a sidewalk, an intricate wrought iron table and chairs casting an abstract shadow on a patio. I constantly look for shadows to photograph.

And sometimes I photograph self-portrait shadows.

I like these self portraits in shadow. Sometimes I am long and stretched out, as in the above photo taken late in the day. Sometimes there is just a head shot, my hat on my head, protection from the desert sun, hiking stick leaning against me, as I balance and set up the shot.

I always have my camera up to my face. I may be alone or with a companion. I like to study these portrait shadows.

They tell me a bit about the photographer I was at that moment in time. By the clues in the photos I can decipher where I was, who I was with, the time of the year or the time of the day. I may even be able to tell my mood by the way I carry my body. I may remember a conversation I had with a person in passing or a particular event that happened that day.

Another way I capture bits of my life as reminders. Like words on a page of a diary or journal, a photo holds that space for me.

T is for Thresholds and Transitions.

Window, Bench and Door in White

Window, Bench and Door in White © 2010 Bo Mackison

Transitions. I think that very word, and a lump forms in my throat, an ache develops in my chest. No matter what type of transition I face, it takes me awhile to focus and gather my equilibrium before I carry on. The transition can be one I dread or one I look forward to — no matter. The very act of crossing a new threshold, or a threshold I am re-crossing, causes me to stop in my tracks.

I’ve discovered that I can approach transitions in different ways. And that is okay!

I may choose to move towards a threshold, decide I am not quite prepared.. OK. I can sit down — that bench is handy — and pause while I consider my next step.

Maybe I approach the threshold and find I need more time to study the new, do a bit more research or soul-searching. Maybe a look through a window, visualizing the next step is helpful. OK.

Or maybe I am ready. I have considered my options, I know that the next step needs to be taken, or I am simply ready. OK. I open the door and walk through, across the threshold.

This photo is a pretty good summary of me working my way through life, whatever it takes at that moment. Approaching transitions in different ways.

U is for the Universe.

Three Self Portraits

Exploring the Universe © 2011 Bo Mackison

The Universe — worlds upon world upon worlds. Bright and shiny — new places to explore.

In each shiny ball representing part of the universe, there is a tiny self-portrait of me, both looking in and looking out.

V is for Vision.

Double Vision

Double Vision © 2011 Bo Mackison

I like this photo – the one I call Double Vision – because the branch in the foreground still has berries and a leaf hanging on it, the branch slightly behind it is bare. It’s a double branch. But there is more. Look into the background, extend my vision deeper into the landscape and I notice the snow-covered river – the river a conduit for travel.

Will it be an easy trip, perhaps on a flowing river in the early summer on a small skiff with a companion? Or will the trip take place during a drought, the water is low, my boat keep getting snagged. I must keep getting into the water to dislodge it, push it along, even portage it? Perhaps the journey is a cold, lonely trek in the winter, traveling alone on skates or ice cleats, or along the side of the frozen river, pushing through the deep snow?

I look at this photograph and I see the past captured — dried fruits and leaves. And it foretells possible vignettes of the future in metaphor — travel on the river. But all the while, it capturing a moment in the present.

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Bo Mackison is a photographer and the owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC. The 5th Annual Photo Alphabet ends with  Wonder thru Zen!

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