Being gentle

Yes, we build up an armor. A shield against all that is painful and careless and cruel in the world. We think the armor protects us and makes us strong. But after a while, that armor can weigh us down and before we know it, we walk around with heavy bodies, ready for conflict and waiting to act.

True strength lies in the ability to take a deep breath and cast aside all of that armor and to be gentle with yourself, and the people around you. Ultimately, there are no clever tactics you need to get through life other than to be kind. We forget that sometimes.

People will hurt you, things will not go your way and there will be days when you feel so lost that even your closest friend cannot comfort you. But if you can lie in bed at night and in the darkness you can say to yourself that you have been gentle with yourself and with people’s hearts today, then that is a great achievement.

A sojourn in Lorne

Is there anything nicer than a short sojourn, a quick break away from the everyday?

 

Even though the skies were grey and it rained now and then, the wind was balmy and the air was fresh with ocean mist against our skin.

We walked along the sand, digging holes and making sandcastles which were then washed away by a cheeky wave or two. Carefully treading through rock pools, the fading light of the day sheered off the water at angles straight into our eyes.

Where the sand met the land, the grass was impossibly green and as we stood in the heart of the inlet, we felt embraced by the headland.

A few days by the beach to blow the cobwebs of winter away.

Everything will be OK

Sometimes my heart and body need to slow down a bit and so I go into nature. You can't rush nature. Trees and shrubs and birds and bugs go about their business quietly. Berries are going to sprout when they're good and ready. Spring will come in its own good time. In nature I'm reminded that everything has its place and purpose and that everything will be OK.

(Image taken at Healesville Sanctuary earlier in the year.)

Tiny little apples

It rained all day today. It's cold. It's miserable and so, I am thinking of things that warm my heart. Like tiny little apples. Small enough to fit two in your hand. Crunchy and sweet to eat whilst sitting near a crackling fire. A quiet moment of cozy comfort.

This image with my hands in front of the fire reminds me of a scene from The Mirror by Andrei Tarkovsky. The image of a girl warming her hands by the fire has echoed in my thoughts from time to time ever since I saw the film years ago. To me, it looked like her hands were on fire, even though they clearly weren't. A strange and intimately domestic moment captured in film to give it weight.

The Mirror is such a powerful, poetic and weighty film with such a dreamlike quality that watching it feels like you enter someone else's inner reality. Thoughts, memories, reflections and poignant moments pass by on the screen and if you don't look for narrative, if you don't question it, you are carried along by the film's rhythm. It is a film that has the most effective use of silence, spread out over long sequences that I have ever seen.

As I think of The Mirror, I feel a bit warmer. My heart and belly are full and I'm not minding the rain so much now, sitting by the fire with my tiny little apples.

Cloud break

Sometimes my brain needs a break and so I go and look at clouds. Here are some for you to look at too. If your brain is thirsty for more cloud images, have a look at the Cloud Appreciation Society. Yes, I know, I can’t believe there is actually a society that appreciates clouds. Amazing stuff.

Slow down and listen

I could only get am radio. In my first car, that is. Music was a big deal to me back then and so, am radio troubled me. To me, it was out-dated, old and irrelevant. Out of sheer desperation I tried station after station. I listened to announcers who paused for way-too-long-between-sentences. I laughed as listeners rang up for talkback, giving their opinions on young people today in stern and cautionary voices.

As I slowly opened my ears, a strange thing happened. The more I listened, the more I fell in love with this slow paced world of am radio with its prepaid funeral package ads and community announcements for senior citizens. But it was the music that changed me. It had an innocence. The melodies and harmonies were more complex than I initially thought and the lyrics told a story that were sweet, sad, poignant and meaningful. The strange juxtaposition of a cheery melody against tales of losing a loved one to another just made my heart soar.

So the other day, years after my conversion to am radio I heard an announcer say this quote by someone unknown. ‘If you don’t stand for something, you could fall for anything.’ See what I mean, you can learn a lot from slowing down and taking your time to listen.

Rabbit sisters

Once upon a time there were two sisters. One was, let’s say, nine and the other was seven. One day they went to a festival where they went on big trampolines. Because they were strapped into harnesses they were able to jump higher than they’d ever jumped before. It was like they were flying. Now and again, the girls would jump and spin around, upside down, squealing and shrieking. They were so excited that it was hard to tell if they were having fun or if they were terrified.

After their turns on the trampolines were over, the two sisters ran quickly towards each other.

‘Oh my god, that was the best fun I have ever had in my life! I loved it so much!’ said the older sister, breathlessly.

The younger sister spat out her words, ‘That was awful, I hated it. I don’t even know why you liked it so much.’

Without hesitation, the nine year old told her sister, ‘The reason I loved it so much was that I was doing it with you, and I love doing things with you. I thought maybe we could go and do it together again?’

‘I’m never doing it again, you can do it yourself.’ The younger sister was adamant.

So the sisters walked off together, away from the trampolines. Soon enough they were distracted by a ride down the big slide, which the older sister found boring and a turn on the dodgem cars which the younger sister thought was too noisy and jarring. Neither sister could agree on an activity.

When they found the baby farm animals, they went into the enclosure and each sat and held a lovely quiet rabbit.

‘I love this.’ The seven year old was beaming.

‘I love this too,’ said her sister.

They giggled, together.

Smiling and bobbing

Today is a quiet day. Boats are bobbing alongside ducks, buoyant, solid and cheerful. Sure, there are a lot of waves, just wave back.

Sit and draw

The things is, some cafés invite you to linger more than others. When you want to sit and draw, the last thing you want is stressed out wait staff hovering behind you, removing your cup the moment you finish your coffee and slapping the bill down as a non verbal goodbye.

I often draw when I’m out and about. I like the challenge of creating an image in different environments with nothing more than a sketchbook and a fineliner. I make it a game, no pencil, no eraser, no second chances.

That’s why a good café where you can take your time with a delicious cup of coffee, maybe even munch on a biscuit and have brief chats with friendly unobtrusive staff is such a precious find. In the end, I have a new drawing and the café gains a repeat customer, singing their praises to one and all.

My quiet little fox friend

A fox in the forest, pen and ink ©jb

The last time I saw a fox was a couple of months ago. I was parked in my car in the early hours of the morning. It was dark and so, so very cold. The street light was showing me the shape of the road and the concrete gutters seemed to glow silver against the bitumen black. Everything was still. As if the air had been sucked out of the suburbs. No leaves, branches or blade of grass moved.

And then there he was. Bounding out between two trees like he’d always been there. Sure footed yet with a cautious gaze, it seemed that his amber coat glowed and warmed up the still air around him. He knew he had to careful, that he wasn’t usually greeted with a happy smile. Crossing the road in front of me, he foraged around in a bush or two and then as quickly as he had appeared, he slipped away out of sight.

I started up the engine, it was time to go. My quiet little fox friend had broken the stillness of the morning and I drove away with a smile on my face.