Monthly Archives: April 2010

I can get up, but not down (easily)

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Point Iroquois Light, Spiral Stairs (Bay Mills, Michigan)

I can get up (if I don’t look down). I can spiral to great heights (if I don’t look down). I can even with some courage wiggle up thru a portal door with low head clearance and come up, rise up, to the view. To the miracle of distance, heighten perspectives and even perceptions. But down? I cannot go back down. I struggle and clench the ice-cold cast iron and brass railings (with both fists) until the cold hurts my hands and I find a mantra. “This is an irrational fear. . .This is an irrational fear. . .This is an irrational fear.” Until I am down and out and breathing the warm air outside the lighthouse tower.

You can read more on the Point Iroquois Light here.

Park Benches in Green

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These park benches are within the viewing area of the Sault Locks. Mike and I were waiting for a freighter to enter the locks and I was poking around at the other “unseen” images around me. I framed this photo up due to the empty and waiting aspect and the tall tree behind. What do I mean by the empty and waiting aspect? This bench is expecting visitors. The scene wants to unfold and offer something to a visitor. The backdrop with the arms of the tree embracing. I think I stopped to take the low perspective not just to get the full effect of the tree but thinking of the weary tourist, needing to rest their feet. Needing to plant their bum on a bench and the sigh I can imagine they let loose as young children run around and they rest. It is not tourist season yet in Sault Saint Marie, but it is coming. Perhaps this bench is happy to be empty, for a while longer.

Getting Outta Town

Munising Tree, taken on April road trip to Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan

There is no time to write, now. But I am getting fresh perspectives while travelling. I am excited about change. I am embracing the future.

Spinning Wheels…

Went for a walk Sunday late evening as shadows grew long. I had the blues. Was tired of health challenges. But I grabbed a camera and went for a walk that had my body, unfortunately, in pain. Normally, I run this route. I did things like walk on opposite sides of roads and even hopped on this Merry-go-Round and took a down shot while spinning a bit. It was calming to stand there and watch the shadows shift as I went round. I knew time would move on. Tomorrow would be another place in time.

Revel in Color

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Like the green moss on the forest floor I feel I am coming alive in spring. It has been a hard winter of injury and illness. I made room in my life for physical therapy, and doctors appointments, blood tests, and changing my kitchen to accommodate multiple food allergies. These actions, necessary. But they seriously shook up my life and interrupted what makes me, well, ME.

Part of my explorations back to self included a hike at Harlow Lake with Mike this past weekend. I noticed that I am starting to feel stronger. Not the physical fit of last summer. But a healing is occurring. That “Healing Girl” is walking with confidence that I can face down the most difficult change and still find fun, colorful play.

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These photos were taken on a large outcrop of rock near the water’s edge. Some one had painted metallic graffiti on the natural rock. In the past I would be aghast, disgusted. This time I saw it as an opportunity to revel in color.

Part of what kept me going over winter was this search for the unexpected color. Winter was not black and white, gray, or dirty white. There was luminous hope even in the void. The light is around us, within us. Tapping into that awareness helps the healing cycle.

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I would love for you to share your healing stories. How has awareness of color, light, and hope brought you thru the winter? Guest columns are welcomed here. Please consider sharing your art, story, song.

The one who has to bend…

In a forest of tall trees, I am the mutant, the one who has had to bend and find a different direction. Living with an autoimmune disorder for the second time around is, different. You know, on one hand, there are ways to feel better, to heal. But it is the elusive diagnosis process. The food elimination process to get through. The stages of mourning, shock, anger. And one day you find a type of acceptance as you learn to live a different life. And you hope to come out the other side able to explain to others what you feel like, what you felt like and offer some hope to help others.

I am still in mourning, far from acceptance. I am depressed and angry. But I am learning to move and flow slowly. Then I round a corner and feel jagged, like pieces of broken window blown out all over a sidewalk. As if a TV had been thrown out of a second story window of an old Victorian house at a frat party. Sharp, punctured, stitched rudely together like a rag doll found by a homeless person in a dumpster.

Taking to the trails, beaches, marshes, I look for light, softness, hope. These photos were taken the day I met with the nutritionist. We discussed gluten-free living, and approached the subject that I may also be casein intolerant (an inability to digest milk proteins) and perhaps corn. It’s a lot to take in. I am still trying to cope with the Celiac Diagnosis.

I still trying to let go of anger. But I am learning that it is not my body I should be mad at…that’s how I used to feel. My anger is less concrete. It has no target. It only has questions…why now? What was the environmental trigger? What am I suppose to learn?  Should I be angry at Monsanto? Why do I have to be the canary, offering warning that modifying genetics can cause serious outcomes that we will not understand for decades?

Things I am working on include forming a healing team and I am still putting the members together. Hey I might even design a tee-shirt. GO TEAM! Learning to rest when my body needs it, I still struggle against this. Replenishing  spirit. Reconnecting to my core strength. Coping with financial fears as I open the mailbox and deal with the crumbling mechanical items in my life. Wondering what my new normal will look like and how I will afford my new life.

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