This morning, a beautiful fog dimmed colors, softened outlines, made the world a more mysterious place seemingly full of hidden possibilities. I have never lived in a place where fogs were a common occurrence and so they seem special, dream-like, alive with unknowing.
My health has continued to decline. As my physical energy drains away, my thinking is becoming slower and foggier. I create less & sleep and bury myself in novels more. I still feel delight and amazement and curiosity, but in a dampened, reduced way. I seem to have entered a new way of being — one that I would not have chosen.
But this morning, as I saw the fog, I was called outside to enjoy being a part of it, The bird songs were not lessened but even felt somewhat intensified as the visual experience softened. I suddenly realized that I could look at my own interior “foggy” state in a different way, perhaps a way that can revive and heighten my sense of joy. Today’s gift of fog reminded me that it is all a part of the Mystery. And how we choose and use the metaphors for our existence can make a tremendous difference in our experience of life.
I will explore and play with this — And already my curiosity is brightened as I ask myself “What if…?”
During the last month, I have taken occasional Expressive Arts classes — where the emphasis is on personal process and experience rather than outcome. The class I enjoyed most focused on mark-making. I was reminded of a long ago class with the artist Rosamond Casey in which she quoted someone as saying “Every time you make a mark you change the world.”
As did Ros, my current teacher Betsy Bevan began by inviting us to make quick marks (lines, not drawings) to show our feelings in response to prompts such as chaos, serenity, fear, etc. It was a delightful limbering-up exercise for hands, fingers, and imagination. We were all fascinated by the marks we had made and by their similarities to & differences from those of our classmates. Then we were invited to simply make marks as we liked on a blank sheet of paper. I immediately discovered that what my hand liked doing was making curving, organic, upward sweeps. It just felt so good! Out of the jumble, a tree emerged. And out of the tree, figures emerged. There was no planning, no thinking, just movements in response to movements, marks in response to marks. I could never have drawn this if I’d tried to work from a concept. And I would never have discovered so much about myself and my feelings as I did by waiting to look at it after my hand felt complete.
In his remarkable (and much beloved) poem “The Layers,” Stanley Kunitz writes:
" Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes."
Sharing Trickster's Hoard 
I roo have realized changes in my physical being. A change in perspective has finally given me new eyes. What if, indeed.
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Margery~ Oh, I’m so glad that you ventured out into the fog and then out into the world you’ve created here. That reframing, looking again is so worth it. It gives us more than we can imagine. I am certainly happy to see your tree here! And I thank you for that poem…”live in the layers”…yes.
xo
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Margery~ Oh, I’m so glad that you ventured out into the fog and then out into the world you’ve created here. That reframing, looking again is so worth it. It gives us more than we can imagine. I am certainly happy to see your tree here! And I thank you for that poem…”live in the layers”…yes.
I used to love the foggy mornings when I commuted to work.
xo
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wonder if this will work … maybe this time!
We too have had a winter of fogs; a strange maybe foreboding winter without a single hard freeze in the forest i live in the midst of. mostly above freezing & i am watching last-summer’s growth on fir & cedar turning pale, shedding the infant needles & unfertilized cones. the salal is dying, Oregon grape is moving in & the mosses! the mosses are spreading everywhere with wild, bold greens. so strange to see them like this, given the 5-8 years of gathering drought — yetthey will be holding more falling moisture in the earth … the earth that is shrinking — subsiding actually — as the depth are shrinking as they dry. The fogs are cozy as they always are. inward growing times. the sun that is often above shines in so-much-more complex ways. The lines it draws are richer than they have even been in the nearly forty years i have been sharing this land with All My Relations!
>
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I grew up in foggy lands and it was magical, mystical but also difficult at times, especially if you had to drive in foggy conditions. Out of the mists of fog, you come to us, and bring a drawing that speaks to me so strongly of uplift and on going spirit. The flow of the lines, the women who appear in the loops, speak of resilience and so it is, and here you are, welcome back Margery. It is so good to see you here.
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Oh, dear Margery, this posting is absolutely beautiful! It’s as uplifting as your drawing. If this is your “slower and foggier” thinking, then perhaps thinking has moved aside a bit more to allow a surge of incredible feeling and inspiration. Thank you for sharing this lovely posting.
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Dear Margery,
(I hope this thime the message goes through).
Thank you so much for your beautiful sharing, I´m very inspired by your reflections and your drawing. Isn´t it beautiful what comes through us, when we let it happen?
I wish you the best and I send you lots of love,
Maria
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