Thursday, September 27, 2007 at 12:12am
I swallow it whole
Column: wavelength
Here I am in the UK. My adventures continue to stretch me, awaken me and enliven me in ways that are surprising and, surprisingly, healing. The gods are never dull, and they consistently amaze me with the creative ways I am called home to myself, called home to wholeness.
What I have to share is such a little thing, really; most likely, it smacks of my flair for the obvious, but on the interior plane it feels larger than the ordinary. It feels like deep, expansive soul work.
With that said, here is this week's report from the field of my psyche:
I have found a spot — actually, it has found me. I first visited this spot during the liminal hours of sunset. The light was dappled and soft. The wind was blowing, and the trees were dancing and the leaves were singing. It was one of those perfect Mother Nature moments. I was in heaven — all this greenery and stone walls and history.
And it got better. I looked beyond the wall, and there was a postcard view of the Thames River doing a slow curl in a serpentine swirl. This panorama was framed with undulating hills in the background. And in the foreground there was the variegated greenery of the park, splashes of color from the buoyant summer flowers still thriving in a manicured, downhill garden and encircling architecture that bespoke of ancient footsteps. In other words, the view was spectacular.
And what was even more astounding is that this breathtaking view is part of an everyday path where dogs are walked, children are guided on their bicycles, lovers stroll arm in arm, husbands and wives debrief their days, singles commune with their cell phones and seniors take in the waning sunlight before heading home. This is a route home, a way into town and destination point unto itself, at least for a tourist like me.
This spot sits on the perimeter of a park. It is the hemline of a tree-filled overlook, complete with generously- paced, comfortably weathered and worn wooden benches that are perfect for taking a moment and enjoying the view.
I have enjoyed this vista on more than one occasion — and, mind you, it takes two bus rides to reconnect with my now-favorite bench No. 3 and what I consider to be the ultimate vantage point to take it all in. For me, the trip is well worth it.
I sit there and drink it all in. I swallow this view whole. It becomes a part of me. The scenery and its concomitant beauty and connection with nature are a kind of communion for me. I find myself refilled and rejuvenated, but more than that, I am uplifted. I am infused with new life and new light. This kind of magnificence and the attendant peace are a balm for my world-weary soul.
I need beauty. Truly, as much as I need air, I also need beauty. It can be natural beauty like my Thames scene, the seaside or a night sky. Or it can be inspired and created beauty such as a piece of fabric, a vase with flowers, a swath of color or a photograph.
And by beauty, I am not talking Madison Avenue or Hollywood's definition of beauty. I am talking that which gives me pause, that which takes me, however momentarily, out of myself and out of my mind and away from my list of things "to do."
Needless to say, beauty is an individual thing, "the eye of the beholder" and all that.
Yet, there are many confluences where we all stop and "ooohhh" and "aaahhh" at some particular sight. Think of people gathered at the Grand Canyon or visiting museums to see Monet, Matisse and Renoir. We become silent and reverential at the sight of such grandeur. The play of light and the composition of elements are riveting. Our attention is focused; we are pulled into the here and now.
There is great power in beauty; it can stop us in our tracks. We gravitate, as if pulled by some invisible magnet, toward beauty. We can't turn our heads away; we need one more look, one more infusion.
And, even better, the beauty of beauty is that it is pretty much everywhere; it is readily accessible
The draw of beauty is like water to a thirsty plant. It is essential and life-giving; it feeds our souls; it revives our nervous system. Beauty reminds us of something grander, larger and all-encompassing; for me, that would be the hand of God.
Beauty moves us into an altered state. We are pulled from our daily ordinariness to something beyond the ordinary. We are moved out of chronos time and into the God-space of kairos time. We are called to see from a greater, more expansive perspective. Our souls hum to beauty. There is a resonance, an energetic connection that is palpable to our sensate selves.
And in that humming connection, our souls are filled, replenished anew and reminded of the godly light around and with us. Our bodies are briefly quieted, our endorphins are revivified and we become full.
Years ago, as a child, I remember watching a black-and-white Western movie on television. In this movie, the stage coach stops at a place where the woman of the family is despairing — for reasons I cannot remember. Another woman, one of the travelers on the stage coach, offers the despairing woman a choice: money, which was needed, or a lace handkerchief that had been admired. Even as a grade school kid, I knew the answer was to take the handkerchief as it would go a whole lot further than a few dollars. And for the record, the despairing movie woman did take the handkerchief. Without having the language, I knew the despairing woman had chosen well. She had found a way of healing her despair and refinding her self.
And so have I. I have found healing and renewal as I sit on my self-claimed bench No. 3 and gobble up this view of the Thames with great relish. The gods have gifted me well; they have given me a piece of the divine. And all I had to do was stop, look and swallow. That's what I call communion.
— — —
Dr. Adele Ryan McDowell, Ph.D., is a psychologist, empath and shaman who likes looking at life with the big viewfinder. Her email address is {email ARMCDOWELL@aol.com}ARMCDOWELL@aol.com{/email}. © Copyright 2007 by Adele Ryan McDowell.
What I have to share is such a little thing, really; most likely, it smacks of my flair for the obvious, but on the interior plane it feels larger than the ordinary. It feels like deep, expansive soul work.
With that said, here is this week's report from the field of my psyche:
I have found a spot — actually, it has found me. I first visited this spot during the liminal hours of sunset. The light was dappled and soft. The wind was blowing, and the trees were dancing and the leaves were singing. It was one of those perfect Mother Nature moments. I was in heaven — all this greenery and stone walls and history.
And it got better. I looked beyond the wall, and there was a postcard view of the Thames River doing a slow curl in a serpentine swirl. This panorama was framed with undulating hills in the background. And in the foreground there was the variegated greenery of the park, splashes of color from the buoyant summer flowers still thriving in a manicured, downhill garden and encircling architecture that bespoke of ancient footsteps. In other words, the view was spectacular.
And what was even more astounding is that this breathtaking view is part of an everyday path where dogs are walked, children are guided on their bicycles, lovers stroll arm in arm, husbands and wives debrief their days, singles commune with their cell phones and seniors take in the waning sunlight before heading home. This is a route home, a way into town and destination point unto itself, at least for a tourist like me.
This spot sits on the perimeter of a park. It is the hemline of a tree-filled overlook, complete with generously- paced, comfortably weathered and worn wooden benches that are perfect for taking a moment and enjoying the view.
I have enjoyed this vista on more than one occasion — and, mind you, it takes two bus rides to reconnect with my now-favorite bench No. 3 and what I consider to be the ultimate vantage point to take it all in. For me, the trip is well worth it.
I sit there and drink it all in. I swallow this view whole. It becomes a part of me. The scenery and its concomitant beauty and connection with nature are a kind of communion for me. I find myself refilled and rejuvenated, but more than that, I am uplifted. I am infused with new life and new light. This kind of magnificence and the attendant peace are a balm for my world-weary soul.
I need beauty. Truly, as much as I need air, I also need beauty. It can be natural beauty like my Thames scene, the seaside or a night sky. Or it can be inspired and created beauty such as a piece of fabric, a vase with flowers, a swath of color or a photograph.
And by beauty, I am not talking Madison Avenue or Hollywood's definition of beauty. I am talking that which gives me pause, that which takes me, however momentarily, out of myself and out of my mind and away from my list of things "to do."
Needless to say, beauty is an individual thing, "the eye of the beholder" and all that.
Yet, there are many confluences where we all stop and "ooohhh" and "aaahhh" at some particular sight. Think of people gathered at the Grand Canyon or visiting museums to see Monet, Matisse and Renoir. We become silent and reverential at the sight of such grandeur. The play of light and the composition of elements are riveting. Our attention is focused; we are pulled into the here and now.
There is great power in beauty; it can stop us in our tracks. We gravitate, as if pulled by some invisible magnet, toward beauty. We can't turn our heads away; we need one more look, one more infusion.
And, even better, the beauty of beauty is that it is pretty much everywhere; it is readily accessible
The draw of beauty is like water to a thirsty plant. It is essential and life-giving; it feeds our souls; it revives our nervous system. Beauty reminds us of something grander, larger and all-encompassing; for me, that would be the hand of God.
Beauty moves us into an altered state. We are pulled from our daily ordinariness to something beyond the ordinary. We are moved out of chronos time and into the God-space of kairos time. We are called to see from a greater, more expansive perspective. Our souls hum to beauty. There is a resonance, an energetic connection that is palpable to our sensate selves.
And in that humming connection, our souls are filled, replenished anew and reminded of the godly light around and with us. Our bodies are briefly quieted, our endorphins are revivified and we become full.
Years ago, as a child, I remember watching a black-and-white Western movie on television. In this movie, the stage coach stops at a place where the woman of the family is despairing — for reasons I cannot remember. Another woman, one of the travelers on the stage coach, offers the despairing woman a choice: money, which was needed, or a lace handkerchief that had been admired. Even as a grade school kid, I knew the answer was to take the handkerchief as it would go a whole lot further than a few dollars. And for the record, the despairing movie woman did take the handkerchief. Without having the language, I knew the despairing woman had chosen well. She had found a way of healing her despair and refinding her self.
And so have I. I have found healing and renewal as I sit on my self-claimed bench No. 3 and gobble up this view of the Thames with great relish. The gods have gifted me well; they have given me a piece of the divine. And all I had to do was stop, look and swallow. That's what I call communion.
— — —
Dr. Adele Ryan McDowell, Ph.D., is a psychologist, empath and shaman who likes looking at life with the big viewfinder. Her email address is {email ARMCDOWELL@aol.com}ARMCDOWELL@aol.com{/email}. © Copyright 2007 by Adele Ryan McDowell.