Lessons of the Lily
“FEEL THE INFINITE LOVE OF GOD WITHIN YOUR HEART. LET YOUR HEART EMANATE THAT LOVE FOR ALL… THE FORCES OF GOOD ARE HUMBLE AND UNASSUMING.”
Paramahansa Yogananda
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Simplicity
“Live more simply, so that you can find time to enjoy the little pleasures of life.”
Paramahansa Yogananda
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Fly in a Lily, Millbrook, New York
Equanimity
“Calmness is the voice of God speaking to you through the radio of your soul.”— Paramahansa Yogananda
A temple in Khajuraho, India at Dawn
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For contributions and an introduction to the children at Michaelโs Makindye Foundation providing a home for street children in Uganda click on the link below. Michael and Angie appear in a photograph below the link.
https://www.gofundme.com/f/sustainability-support-for-the-makindye-foundation
The Life Cycle of a Dahlia
You’re born…
You open up to life…
You blossom and your beauty…
Unfolds…
You interact with other lives…
Of all kinds…
You slow down…
You wilt…
You get old and ailing…
and die…
Becoming dust…
Falling to the earth in rebirth…
Last of the Informal Show
These photographs are the last to go to Michaels Makindye Foundation for street orphans and homeless children in Uganda. See reference at end for information and donations…
Some of my India pictures are going as well… see “India” on the blog. One appears below…
Delhi Market
Makindye children
Michael and Angie
Click on link below to see Michael’s charity:
https://www.gofundme.com/f/sustainability-support-for-the-makindye-foundation
Jeepers Peepers
Above: the vernal pool not yet unfrozen and below: the YouTube video to hear the song of the Spring Peepers
It is late afternoon and it is spring according to the calendar although still quite cool. I have just spent the late afternoon listening to “music.” Some have likened it to the sound to bells. Others to bird song. And still others, with unimaginable disdain, to โsome kind of nature noise.โ For me it is one of the happiest of sounds. The act of creation transformed into sound decibels for all to hear. A sound that comes from the earth and resounds to the heavens, unwittingly praising the Almighty. I hate to leave, and wish I lived even closer to the pond, so that the sound would surround me totally, filling my ears every evening with the sound of perhaps the single-most highlight of spring for me. The siren song of the Spring Peepers.
How have they cast their spell over so many? I cannot say except that their song is uplifting and filled with hope despite the natural perils they face daily. For, as true of all of us, they may die at any momentโ say as a meal for a nearby perching crow or underneath murky waters eaten by a snapping turtle. They call for a mate without ceasing, without fear, single-mindedly, without a thought for their own safety. It is nature at its most elemental, in its most singular scope. They all sing out vying to be heardโ so many voices. In some spots, I am told, their song is deafening. How nice to be there; I cannot get enough of their sweet music. It moves me to tearsโ these tiny creatures singing out their heartโs desire.
As I return home to family โsituationsโ and domestic duties, I yearn for the simplicity of their song. Their total fervor. For if they sing then all is right in that small part of the world. Progress has not paved over their pond. Disdainful humans have not drained a โvernal pool.โ David Carroll writes about vernal pools in one of his books on turtles called The Swampwalkerโs Journal. As the title suggests, Carroll walks through such places in search of turtles and other amphibians. He defines a vernal pool as a pool of water that fills up in Fall and Winter and freezes, swells in the Spring and often dries up by end of Summer. But a vernal pool is utmost a place of magic, not only where turtles lurk, but also where mating frogs deposit gelatinous eggs, which turn first into tadpoles, and then, later, become frogs. Vernal pool habitats hold a galaxy of small things that come to life the instant ice and snow turn back into water. And after a requisite series of warm days, followed by spring rains, on the first dark night, vernal pools become the site of the โsalamander night.โ Salamanders leave their hibernacula to go for a night of endless mating and then return to leaf litter in the woods to disappear for the rest of the year. Some people, who know nothing of vernal pools and their function, deem them a nuisance, a “big puddle” to be filled in or drained. Some people know little of spring peepers except that they are โnoisy,โ โlike some sort of insect.โ (Poor insects being made out to be the pesky lowest of the low.) The natural symphony of hormonal, harmonic sounds sometimes falls on deaf ears.
And when, after finishing my evening chores, I try to read, I find the haunting sound of the spring peepers deep within my psyche, making me restless and anxious and wishing to be at that pond, surrounded on all sides by their sex song, inebriated by the unbridled joy in the air, immersed in the utter power of nature manifesting in one of her gentler forms. In the song of the Spring Peepers nature celebrates life-to-be rather than taking lives away. For most of all the song of the Spring Peepers is a song of tremendous faith, faith in love, and faith that love will propagate and new life will emerge untouched by the often destructive hand of man.
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To read about and/or give to Michael’s foundation for orphan and street children in Uganda, click on the link below the picture of Michael and Angie:
http://www.gofundme.com/f/sustainability-support-for-the-Makindye-Foundation
Informal Show… paintings and photographs
In May the art work below will be going to Michael’s home for homeless and street children in Kampala, Uganda, The Makindye Foundation. For more picture links and information on donations etc. click on link belowโฆ
http://www.gofundme.com/f/sustainability-support-for-the-makindye-foundation
(Click on all images to enlarge)
“Bontecou Lake”, Millbrook, New York (Photograph)
“Wildflowers by the Roadside”, Millbrook, New York (Photograph)
“Weeping Willow”, Lucasville, Ohio (Photograph)
“Reflections of Hills” Millbrook, New York (Abstract watercolor)
“Sunny Hills” Millbrook, New York (Abstract Watercolor)
“Trees in Winter” Millbrook, New York (Photograph)
“Moonlight” Millbrook, New York (Photograph)
“Sunlight over Trees” Millbrook, New York (Watercolor)
Some of the children in Michael’s Makindye Foundation…
(see link at top)
Synchronicity
The Oxford dictionary describes โsynchronicityโ as โthe simultaneous occurrence of events which appear significantly related but have no discernible causal connection.โ
Wikipedia has a longer definition: “Synchronicity (German: Synchronizitรคt) is a concept first introduced by analytical psychologist Carl G. Jung “to describe circumstances that appear meaningfully related yet lack a causal connection.”[1] In contemporary research, synchronicity experiences refer to one’s subjective experience whereby coincidences between events in one’s mind and the outside world may be causally unrelated to each other yet have some other unknown connection.[2] Jung held that this was a healthy, even necessary, function of the human mind that can become harmful within psychosis.[3]“
As a Bipolar 1 woman who was not diagnosed, let alone medicated, until I was 28 years old, my life was full of synchronicity. I was working as a clerk in Columbia University libraries, cataloging art books. My family did not โbelieveโ in psychiatry nor in mental illness. I kept everything secret from them until I could no longer, when I had my breakdown at age 28. At that point I went for emergency care to the Columbia Counseling Service and was told to stay with my family for a week or go to hospital. I was lucky enough to be able to go to my parents for a week . I had begun therapy with the psychiatrist I would wind up staying with until age 74. But at the time I was all alone. I had a best friend from grammar school who was living in France at this time. She and I corresponded every week. We remained close until she died at age 39. I had a few friends at work, but I lived alone and was isolated. And I became psychotic at times. Synchronicity ruled my life. Parts of a song on the radio, or a program on the TV, a man singing in the street… they all had special messages for me. I thought of people in the street as โteachersโ for me to learn from and the people who worked with me, as โmystics,” who understood me, and who were trying to train me.
It was exhilarating when the teachers were happy with my progress but terribly depressing when I did wrong. There were โsignsโ for me to interpret all over the place. And at work, I regarded every book I catalogued as something that held secrets to help me get mentally well or learn truths about life. I would do my job faithfully, most of the time, but while doing it, I was on the constant look-out for special messages meant for me. I did what I called โreadingsโ. I would find some lesson in each book. One book I was working on held a special secret about the womb and the egg and the sperm uniting and becoming a zygote. I pictured the uniting of the egg and the sperm as fireworks. (Thirty years later, saner and married and actively creating art, and, writing a newspaper column upstate on the side, I created an abstract photograph called โConceptionโ.) But in the library, I did what I called “time travels.” I didnโt talk to people much during this period. I listened to co-workers and street people, read extensively and deciphered messages. People would come up to me at work to actually talk to me sometimes, to be nice, I guess, and I would leave the world of the womb, and zygotes or some such thing, and talk to them normally as if I were in their world. I was not!!
In other words, to put it in professional terms, I was WACKO!
That is all behind me now and fortunately, though I have had some hard times, but they have occurred within the realm of a marriage, to be 35 years long this May. It has offered me the only stability and deep love in my life. Gone is the world of readings and messages. Gone is the synchronicity. Sometimes I miss it but not the craziness that went with it. Now I have more meaningful, everyday experiences of sanity. There are still some epiphanies, but not like the old days.
Before I close I must add, there was at least one incident that was truly synchronicityโฆ that was not delusionalโฆ that felt distinctly like a message from God, the Universe. I was working at my desk and suddenly my scalp felt prickles all over it. I grew alarmed and so decided to go to the reference room for one of my โreadings.โ Clearly this warranted research. I went to the Reference Room of the library and found a one volume encyclopedia which I pulled off the shelf. In order for the reading to give answers impartially, I had to open it at random and then put my finger on the page. So thatโs what I did whilst my scalp prickled. My finger pointed to a picture. It was a print of Christ with a crown of thorns. I was stunned. I felt like it was a message from God. And to this day I think it was. It was a message of hope and love.
Yesterday I wrote to a fellow blogger, Anneta Pinto-Young, at Devotionalinspirations.com, who is a Social Worker and a Christian Minister and recounted this story briefly in response to her post on coincidences in her series on “Hearing God Speak.”ย She told me something very wise.ย She said that religion and science have always clashed over these type of things.ย Sure, I was delusional for much of the time, but I did have occasional experiences like this one.ย And, she said, that was God sending me a message of his love and encouragement.ย I felt that then and I feel it today.
Maybe I donโt need the secret messages any more. Godโs word comes through friends now and most definitely through my long-suffering husband.
What can I say but look out for synchronicities and see what message there is for you.
A Short Winter’s Tale
I cry red berries
wash them with teardrops
So you can eat them in the morning
with your breakfast
as you listen so intently
to the news on the TV
I want lifetimes
with you…
Without you
I would be
shivering in the snow
tearless
berryless
bereft.
The Trees of Winter
Every year what budded in autumn, blossoms full blown in winterโ my love affair with trees.ย Trees that were drop-dead gorgeous in their fall colors are now bare, with the exception of evergreens and a few stray deciduous trees that refuse to relinquish their leaves.ย Now the trees are stripped down to their souls and their souls sing a siren song to the universe.
The tops of trees lift my spirit; brushlike they paint the sky the baby pinks and blues of mornings, and the majestic magentas and violets of dayโs end. Each tree has its signature shape against the sky, like a fingerprint or a snowflake, similar yet each unique. Some treetops in their bare state are shaped like a fancy coiffure; others look like wrought iron filigree. On distant mountains, against the snowy ground, some look like stubble on an old manโs unshaven face.
It is the colorful winter sky showing through, and showing off, the bare branches that woo me.ย The bare curvaceous branches are stark, dark lines against the bright of day and the inky sky ofย night.ย These resplendent creatures are living lines that explode.ย Branches tangle like the lines in a Jackson Pollock painting.ย Others curve in the sensuous lines of a Brancusi sculpture.ย Buxom tree trunks stand strong surrounded by their dead blossoms and their burgeoning offspring like a Renaissance Madonna. In truth these trees are not like art at all.ย Rather art imitates themโ their beauty provides the timeless inspiration for artists, writers and poets of all ages and styles.ย
Trees not only inspire, they themselves are paragons of diversity. One look out of a car window while driving on the Taconic and one can see squat pines alongside towering majestic firs, birches interspersed with maple and oak. And together the different brown and tan barks interspersed with evergreens create not only a mosaic of contrasting colors, but display an example to inspire humans to live together in peaceful unity.
These beneficent beings carry the heavy, dark grey clouds of winter. When it snows the tree trunks become canvases for the abstract patterns of windblown-snow, while the serpentine branches are outlined in white. In ice storms their branches become chandeliers, each enveloped in glassine ice, tinkling in the wind. While in the melancholy of a winter rain, the branches become oiled skins of snakes weeping to the ground below. And finally, in the night sky, the branches hold the stars in their arms, those with leaves holding them in their hands, as they nurse the moon.
All trees, no matter what their species, age or height, stand tall in proud humility, their arms reaching up to the Heavens to our Creator in prayerโ soft-spoken beings of peace and tranquility towering over us, while the little creatures race around distractedly below.
Beings of Light
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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.โEach 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: โA human being is part of the whole, called by us the โUniverseโโ a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts, and feelings, as something separated from the restโ 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.โ We are all cut from the same cloth and our inner light unites us.
In Decemberโs 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 usโ we are allโMuslim, 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!
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The Height Of November and Giving Thanks
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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 leavesโ dark brown tan in color. Or there are forest paths with variegated colorsโ 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 NorโEaster 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 โto-doโ 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: โStop! Stop!โ 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.ย Now in November, at Thanksgiving, it is our time to say thank you. Inspired by the Native Americans let us thank the earth.ย 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…
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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, โSend the photos to Iraq.โ 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.ย 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.ย I had never heard of Al-Anbar, Iraq.ย ย Now it is unforgettable.ย
*****
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…
โDated 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 Corpsโ
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:
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…
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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!
MOONSIDE 
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