We accompanied Connie on her afternoon walk at the Mansion, part of the physical therapy regimen she has been working on for weeks now. Maria put Gus on a leash and Red walked with me, he will not walk with anyone but me, not even Connie. Connie looked strong today, and clearly relieved to be back at the Mansion.
Morgan, the Mansion case manager, walk with her and Maria.
Sylvie receives letters from all over the country now, several weeks ago, she came to me, upset, because all of her letters had been inadvertently destroyed.
I tried to reassure her, telling her there would be more letters.
A number of them were from Houston, and other parts of Texas. This morning, she watched the news from Texas and cried, she felt badly for the many victims there. She was further upset because she could not answer the letters from Texas that she had received.
She wanted to know that her friends in Texas – her words – were all right, and she wanted them to know that she cared about them and was worried about them. She felt guilty, I think, and very upset at the thought that they might think she didn’t care about them.
I lost the letters, she told me, “could you tell my friends in Texas to write me again, so I can answer them and know that they are all right.” I said of course I would, but I cautioned her that it might be difficult for some people in Texas to get my blog right now, and for them to get to the post office and send letters off.
I’m sure they would write you again, I said, but it might take a while. Many homes had lost electricity, and many homes were destroyed.
She said she knew. Sylvie and I have a closeness that is hard for me to define. I think we simply trust one another. Sylvie can be strong-willed, even difficult, but she has a heart full of love and a great sense of integrity.
I could feel her anxiety over this.
I had his sudden impulse that Sylvie ought to put the request in her own words, and I asked her if she wanted to do a video to her friends in Texas, and she jumped at this opportunity, she said she did. Sylvie always wants her portrait to be taken. I thought this might help her feel that she was trying hard, and she is.
Her words touched my heart. So I recorded a brief video to help her feel easier, less guilty and less anxious. When it was done, she said she felt much better, and I could see that was true.
So come and meet this remarkable woman with such a big heart, who has battled mental illness for much of her life, and who lost the love of her life more than once. Sylvie knows what it means to suffer.
If you are from Texas, or Houston, and you read this and are safe, and can write and post a letter to Sylvie, that would be great. If you can’t, I will explain that to her, we know how difficult it is there now.
People elsewhere should feel free to write her also, if they wish. You can write Sylvie c/o The Mansion, 11 S. Union Avenue, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816.
Today, I resumed Gus’s training as a therapy dog, it was his fifth or sixth visit to the Mansion. He is calm and at ease in the building, easy around the people and the way they move. One problem Gus has as a small dog is that he is small, and many of the residents can’t reach down to pet him or hold him.
So I ask each resident if they want to hold him, and if so, I pick him up. At first, Gus squirms, not sure what he is supposed to do. I have to make sure his nails are clipped and that I am close to hold him, the skin of some of the residents is sensitive and can easily tear.
Someone – me or them – has to hold him firmly for a few seconds until he settles down, and then I praise him and reinforce the behavior. Connie had a good grasp of this, she wrapped her arm around him, and in a couple of minutes, he sat quietly in her lap, almost falling asleep.
More and more, his periods of calm and quiet are getting longer as his attention span grows, this is the time to really teach him. He was in three different laps today and stayed calm in all of them, I had to hold him firmly in place once when some noise attracted him, but this was a quantum leap over the last visit.
He is realizing that this is work, and that he needs to be calm and still. I think he has the potential to be a great therapy dog. I think it will take more work and supervision and reinforcement but I am confident about it, he is a great and focused dog, he pays attention, is intelligent, and loves people.
I’m going to step up the practice sessions, this is the age, Gus is four months old. Connie is doing very well, she took several walks today, more on that later. She has at least 10 large plastic bags filled with books, gifts, food, yarn, letters and photographs sent to her at Saratoga Springs Hospital and the Wesley Rehab center. She was reading them all day, determine to get through them and answer as many as possible.
We were calling her the Queen Of The Mansion today.
The Blue Heron is an important bird for me to photograph. It is said to symbolize self-determination and independence.
The legs of the Heron are symbols of balance, and they represent an ability to progress and evolve. The long thin legs of the Heron reflect the idea that you don’t need great massive pillars to remain stable, but you must be able to stand on your own.
“The Great Heron” photograph is one of those rare turning points in the creative life. I
It is a special kind of photo, I sensed it the minute I took the shot.
It was made possible in part by a new and somewhat controversial art lens I am trying to learn to use. George Forss, my great friend and one of the most famous photographers and printing specialists in the world, has agreed to print up to 50 signed and limited edition copies of this print.
Maria has agreed to sell them online and also at our October Open House as part of her art show. we’ve already sold nearly half of the 50 photographs that will comprise this limited edition.
This morning, we met with George at his art gallery and saw the first small test print (above) of the 11 by 14 archival paper prints he is in the process of making. George has an amazing feel for photography and for art, he runs an art gallery in our town.
He said he didn’t want to touch up the photograph at all, he thought the colors worked extraordinarily well together and gave the picture a very different kind of feel.
He said the comparison people were making to Monet was very real. I am not about to compare myself to Monet, but I love the comparison.
George is the most gifted photographer I have ever met and his words are important to me. He said the photograph was “extraordinary” and that it was also perfectly composed. Praise always makes me nervous, but George is the real deal, I am in awe of him – he is a true genius and there is an otherwordly glow about this photograph that is exciting for me.
George’s photographs of New York City in the 1970’s and 80’s are breathtaking. Ansel Adams called him a genius.
So I’m very lucky to be collaborating with George and Maria on the prining and sale of this photograph. The photograph costs $110 collars plus shipping unframed. Maria is including the prints, if there are any left, in our Columbus Day Weekend Art Show.
I very rarely sell photographs, I would rather give them away online, but this time, I thought the photograph was very special, and I also wanted to raise some money for our trip to New Mexico in October, our first real vacation. I was mesmerized by the Blue Heron, one of the most beautiful birds I have ever seen.
But the photograph is more than that, as it happens.
I took it with a new and very different art lens called the Daguerrotype Achromat 2.9/64 Art Lens, built on the model of the first optical lens every used in photography. It is a challenging lens, there are no electronics, no auto focus or image stabilizer. Some people loved the lens, many people didn’t. Older people especially wrote to say the softer focus it reminded them of their own struggling eyesight.
I love the idea of using the world’s first optical lens to take some photographs, the lens softens the colors and has a sort of magical feeling to it.
I head from a number of self-described “older” people who said they didn’t care for the lens because it created a soft focus. The world is a fascinating place, I am an older person – I turned 70 a few weeks ago – and this is one of the most special pictures I have ever taken. And I love the softer focus.
The lens has its own mind, and I took 20 different shots of the Blue Heron before he (or she) got sick of me and flew away.
We are committed to the 50 print limit, George says he will have prints ready for shipping in about two weeks. If anyone reading this is interested, you can e-mail Maria at [email protected]. And thanks.
The Blue Heron now has some mystical meaning for me, I have never taken a picture that sold so quickly to so many people.
In the book “Animal Speak,” Author Ted Andrews writes that the ability of the Heron to stand in water on those thin legs enables them to follow their own path. Most people will never be able to live the way heron people do It is not a structured way, and does not seem to have a stability and security to it.
Security is, though, a matter of perspective. There is security in heron medicine, for it gives the ability to do a variety of tasks. If one way doesn’t work, then another will. This something that heron people seem to inherently know.
I didn’t know there were heron people, or that I was one of them. But it seems that I am. I’m grateful to have caught this image, lots of luck involved there, and happy to sell it.
It has already helped to bless our trip to New Mexico, I can feel it.
Empathy is, for me, the hallmark of humanity. As I watch the wrenching and sometimes stirring images from Houston, I understand how central empathy, not argument or judgment, is for me in my moral universe.
I have been following the awful tragedy in Texas, trying to move along with my work and life while still respecting the suffering and loss. Our days this week are so beautiful and This morning, I felt the need to pause a bit and cope with the reality of our powerlessness and the challenge in absorbing so massive a scale of suffering.
As I have mentioned, I believe empathy is greatest aspiration of any moral human, it is the standard by which we can measure or own humanity. Houston calls on me to be a friend in silence, I have no advice, solutions, cures, statements, or opinions to offer, I hope to lend a tender hand when I can.
In our culture tragedy is often just another political issue to argue about, another way for corporations and politicians to profit from our suffering.
I am glad the government is responding aggressively and quickly and hopefully, with compassion. I don’t care to be distracted by anyone’s shoes – this so trivializes the awful suffering of people – or bureaucratic back-slapping. It’s too soon for medals when very brave and very ordinary people are risking their lives to pull people out of flooded houses and when countless others are traumatized or dead.
It doesn’t matter to me what Donald Trump’s secret motives are or might be, he is paying attention and offering help. Good for him. That is all he can do and the least he can do.
Now, perhaps he and the pundits and politicians can be silent for a while and let the real heroes do their work, and the real victims begin to heal. That will mostly happen out of our sight or consciousness.
For Houston, I think of Henri Noewen’s Three Meditations On Christian Life, and every politician and journalist would do well to read it. He writes of the “friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.”
I thought today that much heroism, connection, love and community will surely come out of this darkness.
Elizabeth Kubler-Ross wrote that the most beautiful people she has known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found the way out of the depths. These people, she wrote, have an appreciation, a sensitivity, “and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen”
I love those words, that is also my experience with people who are filled with feeling and empathy, most often because they have suffered.
I’ve sent off my donations and paused my own fund-raising for the Army Of Good, it seems inappropriate to ask for donations while so many people are suffering so much and have lost so much. and whose need is so great right now.
Empathy hurts, especially when it calls upon me to try to stand in the shoes of people who have lost every single thing except their lives and must give rebirth to themselves in a world that will not stand still for them for too long. In a week or so, the cable news networks will be gone, Twitter will be onto something new, the politicians will be arguing and maneuvering for power and position again.
But the pain will be there for a long time. It is difficult for me to even begin to grasp a catastrophe of this magnitude.
So what can I do?
For today, I’m just going to think of Houston, and try to be the friend who can be silent in despair and confusion, cheer the heroes on as they do their work and speak to the best of humanity, and accept not knowing, not curing, not healing, and offering a gentle hand when I can.
Empathy is heavy because it asks us to feel rather than just sympathize, wrote Milan Kundera, in The Unbearable Lightness Of Being. Sometimes, not even our own pain weights as heavy as the pain we feel for someone else, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes.
If you watch the news, many more echoes than that.
Empathy, wrote Maria Popova on her compelling blog Brain Pickings, is not the same thing as sympathy. “We revere it,” she wrote, “as the hallmark of a noble spirit, a pillar of social justice, and the gateway to reaching our highest human potential. It is a centerpiece of our very humanity.”
So this is not a day for me to be a hero, or a poitician, but to cheer the heroes on. Not a day to offer miracles, but empathy and silence in the time of despair. A day to count my blessings, and hold the ones I love close.
Thinking of you Houston and pausing in my life to try to stand in your shoes.
