Beings of Light
(Click to enlarge)
(Click to enlarge)
December is my favorite time of year. In this month of darkness, in this the darkest month, the light of the human spirit shines forth in a fullness shown by so many, in so many ways. As the days grow shorter in North America, houses and trees are decorated, and snow falls. In the hushed silence of the nights, lights shine in windows, and the beauty is shared by passersby. For this season of giving brings the festivals of lights: Hanukkah, Christmas, Kwanzaa, Diwali. Each tradition incorporates light in its ceremonies and decorations.
A neighbor friend of mine who lived down the road, a donkey in his stable, reminds me of the story of another manger over 2000 years ago. And seeing him snug in his stable with snow on the ground gave the illusion that all was right in the world. But all is not well. Thousands know no peace in any season. Millions are cold and starving. Racism and religious wars prevail. Climate change advances in leaps and bounds, faster than most predicted.
Those who live closer to the land are especially blessed. They share their lives with animals who are constant reminders of humility and simplicity in this rapid, complex, multi-tasking world. They can drive around on a December night and see houses covered in lights with illuminated trees, houses warmed by fires, filled with laughter and conversation and love, and feel blessed. Blessed to have so much when others have so little. Blessed to be able to celebrate as they wish when others cannot. Yet even those living in the worst conditions show the light of the human spirit and celebrate the season of light in personal ways. For the human spirit is indomitable.
Einstein said: “A human being is part of the whole, called by us the ‘Universe”– a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts, and feelings, as something separated from the rest– a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circles of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.” We are all cut from the same cloth and our inner light unites us.
In December’s darkness we light lights. For we are beings of light. A light glows within each one of us. And, at the most basic level, we are beings of light because we are made from stardust. Perhaps that is why the stars hold such majesty for us– we are all—Muslim, Christian, Jew, Hindu, African, whatever– we are all made from star material.
And in this holiday season we behold the night sky as Christians say shepherds did over two thousand years ago on the birth of the holy infant, in a stable like the one down the road where my donkey friend lives. On that night they say a star lit the whole sky to guide the shepherds to the stable of the infant, Jesus, the son of God.
In these deep, long, silent nights as we light our houses, our candles, our trees, let us look inside ourselves and find the glow that may guide us each, alone but akin, to THE Light!
(Click to enlarge)
A Growing Movement on WordPress
(Click to enlarge)
My blog started out as a mental health blog because I am Bipolar. I started it to showcase my book on Amazon, “Eye-locks and Other Fearsome Things.” But I found little interest in mental health subjects and the blog soon morphed into a forum for my nature columns, photographs and paintings, recording the beauty of nature, trying to best describe and display God’s creation. Recently I have found that there are those who have used this platform to set themselves up as self-proclaimed experts, putting down others’ religious leanings and telling readers what they should do with their lives and what they should believe. In all fairness, everyone is entitled to say whatever on this platform although I don’t appreciate pornography which occasionally appears. Most bloggers have been tremendously responsive and I thank my many followers for their prayers during my husband’s surgery in whatever religion they subscribe to and their following. I thank them wholeheartedly and will not forget them. But recently I find posts putting down the religious practices of others. These comments and blog posts seem judgemental and possibly intolerant. Someone actually wrote all meditation is self-hypnosis, arguing against the many religions that use this in their practices, saying to follow his guidance. This sort of arrogance is astounding to me, and seems unduly prejudiced specifically against Hinduism. Another blogger told me to go out and heal the world… never mind that I no longer believe in the healing power of some alternative medical practices, have a major mental illness and am a recluse due to limited mobility. I had always thought WordPress to be a generous forum but apparently the growing conservativism across the planet has meant it is now okay to tell people what to do and how to live. I think in times of such utterly dreadful conflict and anger between peoples around the world, and in the spirit of the holiday season, we should refrain from such divisive comments. So to my 1, 120 followers, I am not following WordPress for awhile. I am really disheartened by these developments on this platform. I may visit to look at the posts I follow… or not. But I will think long and hard about posting again.
May you all be blessed this holiday season!
The Height Of November and Giving Thanks
(Click to enlarge)
A chill wind blows the yellowing leaves off the trees. They drift down to the ground like giant snowflakes. The air is pregnant with the feel of the coming holidays. Fall has truly come with the sudden drop in temperatures, a full 20 degrees cooler than a week ago. This is the real Fall, no mealy-mouthed disguised Fall, but a Fall that will guide us into winter appropriately. November appears as a mirror image of March. November is the vibrant color of decay while March is the decaying color of about-to-burst-forth Spring.
The birds are at the bird feeder all the time now. They are not stopped by our presence when we come to fill the feeder or blow leaves under it. Nothing stops them. They swoop around the feeder and the surrounding trees like Kamikaze pilots, darting here and there recklessly. The squirrels are in a frenzy as well, stock piling and burying acorns and walnuts which they will retrieve without fail in a month or so in a snow-covered land.
The trees are most beautiful for me at this time of year, when many of them are bare and a scattering of leaves remain on dark brown branches. The leaves that remain on the trees blow on the limbs with dainty grace in their precarious positions. Yet these are the survivors. The other leaves have fallen and gone the way all living things eventually go. Most trees have lost all their leaves and they stand in stark contrast against the blue sky, the stormy sky, even the night sky. They are perhaps most beautiful at night, like arms reaching up to the darkness trying to grab at the stars twinkling between the branches. Moonlight dances on their limbs.
November is the last glimmer of color and in some places the color seems to be predominantly yellow. A carpet of yellow lines the woods now. And now one can see inside the woods, so dark and impenetrable in summer. Some forests have carpets of oak leaves– dark brown tan in color. Or there are forest paths with variegated colors– vibrant crimsons against yellows and faded greens and tawny tans. The unmown lawns are now taken over by the spiders and, at moments, one can see a world of webs covering fields that only appear in a certain slant of sunlight. It is the silent take over of the spiders before the snows come.
The yellow, the brown, the crimson leaves are complemented by the ubiquitous yellow, brown and crimson mums that appear on the roadside near mail boxes, on porches or along driveways. These tough little flowers withstand frosty chills and stand tall throughout most of November. Hearty souls and so giving in their colorful, velvety splendor.
The Halloween pumpkins begin to sag a bit or shine with wetness as if encased in glass. They will soon be tossed, pine combs and wreathes and fir swags will take their places, and the season of lights will begin. Like a child I am filled with anticipation of what is to come although all the spiritual guides teach us to live in the moment. I try to live in the moment all Autumn for as a season it seems the fastest to come and go. I try to hold each moment in my hands as a treasure but they all sift through my fingers like grains of sand. Then Christmas comes and fades in a flash and we are into the Nor’Easter blizzards of January. Another year is gone. The years do go faster as you grow older. Every one has their favorite theory why this is so. I think it is “to-do” lists. They rob us of time as we run around like Kamikaze birds or frenzied squirrels to check things off. And our reliance on calendars. We turn to mark things in our appointment books months ahead of time effortlessly flipping through the seasons with a flick of the wrist. It is no wonder time flies. We are in August and planning Christmas. I am fighting this in November with half the Fall gone: “Stop! Stop!” I try in vain to wish time would stand still so we could be in forever Thanksgiving/Christmas. But, being human, we would soon tire of that. It is good we are defenseless against time.
We go about living our lives, trying against our natures to treasure the good moments. Now in November, at Thanksgiving, it is our time to say thank you. Inspired by the Native Americans let us thank the earth. Let us say thank you to the trees for their constantly changing beauty, to the stars for their piercing presence in the night sky, to the leaves for their inspiring colors, to the sun for its life-giving power, to the Spring for its awakening hope, to the Summer for its warm, thriving growth, to the Fall for its bounty, to the Winter for a time of renewal, to the snow flakes for their hushed, white silence that transforms our world, to the animals for their pure souls, to our families and friends for their love, and, lastly but mostly, to the Higher Power of our belief.
Happy Thanksgiving and may you each be blessed with the all embracing, pervasive Love in nature.
And They All Fall Down… and Become Just a Memory… Too Fast… the Scintillating Colors of Fall…
(Click to enlarge all photos)
Photographs on Exhibit in the Iraqi Desert
Although totally against the war in Iraq… part of history now… I wanted to do something back then. I somehow found this organization that sent things to soldiers in Iraq and other places. I think the organization is long gone but my memories aren’t.
Use slider to see photos. I wanted to put music to this and unfortunately the pictures repeat but my computer skills don’t include how to do and fix those things in posting so this will have to do to give some idea of the show just plain and simple.
*****
There was no Iraq war when my husband and I bought a tiny, old converted dairy barn in Stanfordville in Dutchess County, New York. But it was in the works. After moving upstate, we were involved in our own little lives, falling in love with the scenery of the area. As a photographer, I started taking photographs all the time. The landscape was so beautiful, I must have taken hundreds of photographs of animals and trees and enlarged many of them thinking I might get a show one day. Well, I wound up having many small shows in little bookstores and restaurants and office buildings, even exhibited in a group show in a gallery in New York City– but none was like this one!
The Iraq war was in full swing when we were upstate. It killed me to have all these photographs sitting in bins in my studio. I loved the subjects of these photos, the countryside of the Hudson Valley and its animal denizens, and wanted to share the beauty.
And then one day a voice inside said, “Send the photos to Iraq.” I researched organizations sending comfort items and necessities to Iraq and found two. Neither said anything about sending photographs but one said something about soldiers requesting posters. I was thinking “Anjolina Jolie type” posters but when I inquired, the responses were encouraging. So all excited, I sent off fifty of my nature photographs of scenes from Dutchess County to the two organizations.
Life intervened and I forgot about the photos. Until the founder of the organization, Give2theTroops.com, wrote me three emails, the email below, a link to the thank you note from her husband in Al-Anbar, Iraq, and on the following day, photos of my photos in Iraq. I had never heard of Al-Anbar, Iraq. Now it is unforgettable.
*****
From: “Andi Grant”
To: “Ellen Stockdale
Subject: A HUGE thank you and hug.
Date: Saturday, March 01, 2008 7:42 AM
Ellen, I sent over several of your beautiful photography pieces, but I was waiting for a group in a desolate area with NOTHING on their walls.
As it turns out, that desolate, remote group ended up being my husband’s unit! (Sgt. Brian Grant, U.S. Marine Corps) who arrived in Iraq not too long ago. He and his Marines live in mud sheds, with NO toilets and NO showers, and they must urinate and defecate in bags and then burn their waste!
The nicest part is when he told me, “Andi, I opened the box and there were all these BEAUTIFUL photos that I hung up allover our walls. We must live in the most luxurious shed ever! ( I sent them each pillows, sheets, etc.)
They have ugly bare walls with graffiti on them and I believe a few bullet holes to from what I could tell in his photo. Their only window is piled high with sandbags to keep any enemy bullets out.
I personally packed the boxes with your framed photos in them and am so happy they did not get ruined!
So I wanted you to know it made my day to hear Brian got boxes which I packed him, that my idea of sending him the photos was well accepted and that you were willing to do this for our troops! You made a lot of troops happy as I am sure those photos will stay on for incoming troops after Brian leaves.
I’ll see if Brian can send a few photos of your photography on the walls … They are very busy so I am not sure if they have time, but the next time he calls me, I will ask him, okay?
So thank you again, Ellen!
Love,
Andi Grant
*****
Then Andi Grant sent me the link to the website where the following letter from her husband appeared…
“Dated 28 February, 2008IraqDear Give2TheTroops (Connecticut Branch),
We received another 7 boxes from you! Wow! I put all of the toiletries on the large table in the bathroom and I put up the cards from Xerox in our hallway and above all of the toiletries. I opened the box which was full of great snacks. I was throwing the guys beef jerky, gum, candy, trailmix, and sunflower seeds non-stop. I told them to bring the snacks on the road with us each day so I could get some. I took a few bags for myself but I gave the rest away. It was so much fun! I gave G2TT brochures to several guys who are leaving soon but will be deployed in the next year or so. I also put the box of snacks out in the eating area and put a sign saying that all of it was donated by G2TT.Thanks also for all those great pillows you sent us. We are so appreciative! We also loved the large framed photos that were sent by photographer Ellen Stockdale Wolfe. Those went right up. Our walls are dirty with spider/ cob webs and various Arabic writing in the hall and other places. The pictures really make the room come to life and make it cozy. Some of the photos look remind me of the places I ride my Harley. It really makes things nice. Our only window is piled with sandbags (to prevent bullets coming in) so at least we see the outside and “home” with those photos. We took a photo with the Connecticut State flag in honor of all our supporters there and we all signed it and we’re sending it back to you to hang up!If you can, please send us children’s clothing, school supplies and small toys for all the children we see. Thank you so much for all you do for us and ALL the troops over here in all branches of service.Love,BrianSgt. B.H. Grant and our Marines from PTT 23 PTT Team 23U.S. Marine Corps”
My husband noted that in the photos Sgt. Brian Grant sent, he had selected the peaceful water scenes to display. Not surprising given their living conditions.
I plan to send more photographs. Now they go to the Vets from that war.
If anyone is interested in contributing anything to the men and women overseas, the website explains how and what is needed:
Ray Charles and “Oh, Happy Day”
New York City is literally flooded today and people are having a miserable time and all is gloomy and I found this on At Sunnyside and just had to post it to cheer folks up a bit and give us a blessing of joy.
Glimpses of Fall #2
VERY SORRY– THINK MY VIDEO DIDN’T SHOW ON THE FIRST TRY… THE PICTURES ARE THE MAIN THING TO SEE– HOPE THEY APPEAR NOW…
(Click to enlarge)
A tribute to Fall, and to my brother, Tony, gone 15 years now… his favorite song, “Cool Change” by the Little River Band and photos I took around Millbrook, New York. Miss both very much!
Glimpses of Fall
VERY SORRY– THINK MY VIDEO DIDN’T SHOW ON THE FIRST TRY… THE PICTURES ARE THE MAIN THING TO SEE– HOPE THEY APPEAR NOW…
(Click to enlarge)
A tribute to Fall, and to my brother, Tony, gone 15 years now… his favorite song, “Cool Change” by the Little River Band and photos I took around Millbrook, New York. Miss both very much!
Beginnings & Endings
(Click to enlarge)
No one in my family liked summer. Probably because we lived in New York City and summer is not fun there. Moving upstate changed all that– up to a point…though I must admit to a weakness for those beautiful June days when the temperature reaches perfection, the sky is blue with fluffy clouds, and a soporific breeze wafts through the trees. And true, one has much more time with the four or five extra hours of sunlight. Still in all, when the first hints of fall come I am bordering on ecstatic.
First there is the change in light. The sun, still hot in mid-September, does not pack the punch it did in July, when one could be outdoors for an hour and come in with a change in skin color. Temperatures cool. The grass does not grow as fast. The “blood” of the trees starts to flow back into the trunk causing leaves to change color. Walnuts, acorns and apples fall. The bats leave for warmer climes, giving us yet another chance to plug up holes inside to keep them outside next summer. Ads start to appear in early August for “Back to School” specials, bringing the butterflies, that were so rampant outdoors in August, inside the stomach of many a child. Even adults are not immune. Many grown people feel the flutter of back-to-school anxiety come fall. After all September means “back to school” for many, many years. Time to “honker down” again and mean business. Fall offers a new beginning and there is a tinge of excitement added to the anxiety in facing something new.
And most of all, fall is a time of riotous color, when a walk in the woods finds one reveling like a drunk, besotted by the yellow, orange, crimson, russet world which our eyes imbibe like a hefty cocktail. It is a time when Italian comes to the lips in a loud “Que bella!! (“How beautiful!!”) The green of summer is bucolic and raises the spirit, but the many colors of fall intoxicate. People start talking of peak color, and leafing becomes the pastime of many. It is the time to plant bulbs and endlessly rake blowing leaves.
But fall is a time of melancholia, too. Flowers die. Reptiles go into hibernation. Insects die or overwinter. Songbirds migrate. Trees eventually loose their leaves. Anxiety over new beginnings can be uncomfortable. And the end of the lazy days of summer brings with it shorter days, longer nights, and possible depression for many people. Moments of sobriety seep into intoxication with the new world of color as we may remember loved ones who can no longer share the beauty…who can no longer enjoy those cool, crisp days in September when coolness brushes the cheeks… days so coveted in August. For autumn is a celebration of endings, too, perhaps best described by the French poet, Guillaume Appolinaire, in his poem Autumn:
A bow-legged peasant and his ox receding
Through the mist slowly through the mists of autumn
Which hides the shabby and sordid villages
And out there as he goes the peasant is singing
A song of love and infidelity
About a ring and a heart which someone is breaking
Oh the autumn the autumn has been the death of summer
In the mist there are two gray shapes receding
Alternative Realities
Recently, having had some trouble with mania, I wrote a post saying I had to take some time off from blogging. People on WordPress were so understanding and supportive! You guys were great! Things were heading in a wrong direction but nowhere near where I was long ago…
II am reposting and editing an old post found by a fellow Wordress blogger, Ronny, on “Ronnie’s Blog.” It is very humbling to look back but also interesting in terms of the nature of reality.
Not long ago, I was being prepped for a surgery and the surgeon asked me about the medications I take. When asked why I took Thiothixene, an anti-psychotic, I told him that I was Bipolar. He said, “I think we are all Bipolar.” Maybe it was an effort to relate to me but it hit me in a “sore spot.” Everyone has moods, it is true, but being Bipolar is not just being “moody.” If we who are Bipolar have to endure the stigma of mental illness, at least allow that it is different from being “normal,” and not just some self-indulgent form of self-pity. What is Bipolar Disorder?
Bipolar Disorder is a major, Axis 1, mental illness characterized by extreme highs and lows. It is a risky mental illness diagnoses because people can die from it. They suicide during a low. In Bipolar 1, the sufferer can become manic and, while manic, and even while depressed, can become psychotic. Normal people do not become psychotic except perhaps, in their dreams. Being psychotic means a major break with reality. It means entering another world that most don’t even know exists. So, no, to that surgeon, we are NOT all Bipolar.
And, yes, people have fractured views of reality. But some views are more fractured than others. There is another “reality” in psychosis. What interests me is that different people who are psychotic have similar experiences, making me question the reality that we call consensual but also the one called psychotic. When I had my one and only breakdown in my 20’s, before I was properly medicated, I entered some other reality.
In that other reality, the TV and radio gave you messages directly relevant to your life– so relevant that one began to think there was some mind-monitoring device in your TV or radio. And the AC had a microphone that allowed you to talk to the world outside one’s window, to the people in the street, and you could play as they responded to your silly commands. When one had the nerve to venture outside of one’s apartment, a cacaphony of voices of people in the street told you positive or negative things. People (I thought of them as teachers and/or psychics) did not come up to you and speak directly to you for they knew you could not handle that. Rather they spoke loudly to one another about your behavior so you couldn’t help but overhear. If they were pleased with your behavior at the time, the comments were your reward for “getting well.” And it was glorious. If they are displeased, criticism came from everywhere. Then there is nowhere to hide the shame you felt because negative feedback was coming at you from every direction. Then life became a hell that did not disappear when you got back home, because you could still hear voices next door or in the street. That was just one down side of this other “reality.” Everything had self-referential meaning. I never heard actual voices– it was either hearing voices that are the normal internal monologue gone haywire so you thought it is someone else, or you were one step away from that because the voices you heard were actually real, saying real things, but not to you although you could find special personal meaning in them. There was no safe place. No escape. No privacy. I was working in a library at Columbia University and living alone in an apartment in New York City at the time. How much worse would it be living in a shelter, hospital, prison or, worse, on the street where one is overwhelmed with every kind of stimuli possible!
Synchronicity was everywhere. SometImes the lessons were religious in nature. This was perhaps a lower form of altered consciousness. Life alternated between heaven and hell. One wonders if there was some divine intervention in these states because of the ubiquitousness of synchronicity. Was this a fractured peek at what Hindus call Maya?
My life is very different now. I have a husband I adore. I often lament to him now that I cannot see the world as a dream or Maya as spiritual writers describe and I feel so utterly unspiritual. And yet, now many, many years ago, I lived in another reality.
“For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.” 1 Corinthians 13:12. Not what St. Paul meant but it works.
Only now can I see a little hint that “reality” IS some sort of a consensual dream that appears on our retinas and ear drums and that our mind interprets in a similar fashion… or so we think.
For sure there are different realities. But I am striving towards a higher form of consciousness and have little time left in which to do it. In looking back over the post that Ronnie “liked,” I am VERY grateful to have survived thus far out of the hell I was once in. I got help and medication. And God sent me a wonderful husband who eventually became a psychiatric social worker. I thank God for bringing him into my life. And for giving me access to the common reality in which most people dwell… but also glimpses into other realities and levels of life… and perhaps a schematic feeling for Maya.
This entry was posted on September 8, 2023. It was filed under Abstract Photography, Bipolar Disorder, Depression and Mania and was tagged with Bipolar 1, Bipolar Disorder, Fragmented reality, Hearing voices, Maya, Mental illness, Mental illness advocacy, Psychosis, Reality, Stigma, Stigma of mental illness, Synchronicity. Edit.
MOONSIDE 
You must be logged in to post a comment.