Day: July 20, 2015

Late in his life, Thomas Merton, the brilliant Trappist monk and author and philosopher, wrote that finally, and after great struggle, he had come to the conclusion that his highest ambition was to be what he already was. “That I will never fulfill my obligation to surpass myself unless I first accept myself, and if I fully accept myself in the right way, I will already have surpassed myself.”

Merton, like most of us, always wanted to be more. A better person, a more devout worshiper, closer to God, surer in faith; he wished to be more in solitude, to write better, travel more, find love. He always wanted to surpass himself, and he often did. But then he came to one of those epiphanies that sadly, seems only to strike older people, those who have lived long enough to see some things and learn from life, and thus, are pushed to the edges and ignored.

Merton chose to want what he already had, and to be what he already was, and his ultimate goal in life was to first accept himself before he could  really grow as a human being.

This was an important idea for me. I have always wanted to be something I was not, I was never comfortable with what I was and who I was. My books were never successful enough, my writing was never good enough, I was never honest enough, or sane enough, or smart enough, or responsible enough, I was never good enough.

Lately it has occurred to me that my highest ambition is to be what I already am. If I cannot accept myself and love myself, I can never be more than I am, and if I fully accept who I am, I will already be what I most want to be. It shocks me to think of the peace and power and simplicity of that idea. This is about letting go, in the most fundamental way, of the heavy baggage I have carried around on my back.

“The beginning of love,” wrote Merton, ” is the will to let those we love be perfectly themselves, the resolution not to twist them to fit our own image. If in loving them we do not love what they are, but only their potential likeness to ourselves, then we do not love them: we only love the reflection of ourselves we find in them.”

If I cannot be perfectly myself, even to me, then I do not love myself, only my own reflection.

The human psyche – at least my psyche – seems to be afflicted with punishing people who are different, with conquering or killing or hating people who are alien to us, with failing to accept people as they are, rather than as we would wish them to be. This idea, that we must always be more than we are, seems the ultimate hubris, the most potent kind of arrogance.

Each morning, I sit in bed, or out in the pasture with the dogs and the sheep, or out on the Adirondack chairs  and I work to fully accept myself, and in this way, will surpass myself in the most important way. I want to be what I already am. Then I will be free.

 

 

 

 

Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time, wrote Thomas Merton, a monk, author and artist. Art is grounding, it is, to me, the most personal expression of identity. My photography helped carry me through some of my darkest days, and I am not ever sure why. I think it has to do with  grounding me, in seeking to capture the light and images and color of the world around me, I somehow came to see the world anew, came to find myself.

I came to see  myself more clearly, as well as the world, and in seeking to capture the color and light and beauty all around me, I found it in myself, I put a bright light on the darkness inside of me, I shed the anger and the fear, or much of it. I became a seeker of light, thus could no longer live in darkness.

Every day, I am moved to discover the beauty and shapes and feelings around me. This afternoon, my eye was drawn – this is something new – to the clothesline, to the colors and shapes, and what is art, I thought, but that, or one person’s vision and expression of that. So I decided this clothesline was the art I find around me, my own expression, my own painting, on the line was my own life. And Maria’s.

I don’t need paint and a canvas or a museum curator to see the art under my nose.

I believe in strong women, and I love strong women, and as a photographer and a writer, I look for strong women everywhere, sometimes I can see their strength and authenticity in their faces. Kelly, who works at the Foggy Notions (The Bog) restaurant and bar in my town, has that kind of a face.

Every time I come into the restaurant, I ask Kelly if I can take her picture, and she shrugs and smiles, and says sure. She has never asked me why or what I am going to do with the photographs. But I think she knows. It is a great challenge of any artist to capture the face and radiance of a strong woman, it is a curious thing in my life that I am now surrounded by them. My wife, my friends, a dog, two donkeys and a pony. And the ones I run across in my life.

At the bog, a busy and popular small town roadhouse, Kelly handles the bar and the restaurant, often by herself. She moves constantly and effortless, you would think she had all the time in the world, she never complains about how busy she is or rolls her eyes at the travails and troubles of waiting on so many people. She does her work with grace and always a smile.

When you point a camera at a strong women, she does not flinch or fuss with her hair or arrange her clothing or speak poorly of herself or her appearance. She doesn’t say she always takes a bad picture, she doesn’t wish she had more time to get ready. When you point a camera at a strong woman, she looks you in the eye and says, usually wordlessly, go ahead, do your thing, this is who I am and I love who I am. Click away.

Sometimes, there is a radiant smile – Kelly has such a smile, is is natural and as powerful as a lighthouse, even behind the counter of a bar. For me, a portrait of true beauty.

I believe in strong women, they stand  and they deal. They face the world with heads  held high and they carry the burdens and suffering and love of life in their hearts. And in their smiles.

 

“

I am learning that the way to tell a good friend is to  pay attention to how easy it is to talk to him or  her. Good friends understand you, they understand what you are saying, they are nourishing and supportive without being intrusive and suffocating. Ron Dotson is a good friend, he was a Marine combat medic in Vietnam, he was shot and seriously wounded there, he is a minister now, his ministry is helping people in need, in helping the poor. He is from the genuine wing of Christianity that preaches compassion and comforts the poor.

I see him every few years, he is shy and generous, a good listener, a good friend. He came to Cambridge today to buy me lunch at the Round House Cafe and  come visit the farm. His son Jordan is every bit as nice and open as he is, I think he and I are friends also.

It is something of a special thing that Ron appeared today to be with me, a good friend of mine, who also served in Vietnam, has been hospitalized for treatment of a crippling and painful disorder, he called me from the hospital today to tell me where he was, and I asked him if there was anything I could do for him. He said the best thing I could do for him was to be his friend, he was entering a dark time.

I said that was not an issue, I would certainly remain his friend. Ron told me that was the best thing I could have done for him. Tell him I am praying for him, Ron said, tell him an old Marine medic from Vietnam is praying for him. Ron watched me herd the sheep with Red and the very boisterous Fate, our house-sitter Deb Foster says Fate is a puppy who thinks she is a kangaroo. True.

Ron is back to Ohio now, I haven’t seen him for three years and may not seen  him for another three or more. I hope it isn’t any longer than that, he is always welcome her and so is his son Jordan. I am learning that friendships come in all sorts of ways, and each one is different.

This year, one of my friends killed himself, another is in the hospital getting treatment that may take a while, another drops in for an hour or so every few years and returns to the Midwest. What is friendship, anyway? Trust and love, I think. And commitment. A good friendship feels good, you don’t walk away wondering what each other meant, what was really said. You just know.

Ron loved Red and Fate, two wonderful but very different dogs. Fate is Lenore’s equal when it comes to loving people, she even loves the people she spots on the street through the car window. I very much appreciate having a dog who loves people. I took Maria into town to get her car picked up and a woman walking by looked in the car window and yelled suddenly: “is that Fate? Is that the dog I’ve been seeing on Facebook?” She was from Florida, a reader of the blog, she was visiting relatives in Cambridge and just happened to be walking by.

“She is adorable,”she said, “and a honey!” I lowered the window – Fate almost shot out, she was so excited. You would think they had known one another for years.

Morning chores are a happy time around this farm, especially if Maria is around. Everyone gets a treat and a talking to in the morning, it is the sweetest part of the day. Maria has a great and loving heart, the animals respond to it. She and the donkeys have a long and deep connection, the big pony is new. When we unlatch the gate, we  hear a big whinny, like in the old cowboy movies, and then the thunder of hooves and Chloe comes rushing up to the gate for her carrot, her brushing and grooming. For much of my life, I could not have imagined a scene like this, now it is a cherished part of my day.