Salisbury Cathedral

This is pure tourist joy, this post.  No reflections, no commentary, just some photos from my trip to Salisbury and the magnificent Gothic  Salisbury Cathedral.  Unfortunately we were not able to take photos of the interior as a service was going on, but I was able to take photos of a Nave, the courtyard, and an area that must at one time have been the Cloister where the priests or monks lived.  And I had a chance to hear the choir sing inside - the acoustics are amazing.

I am as ever astounded by the rising ceilings of these Cathedrals. which seem to me to resemble, and be modelled upon, trees rising up.  I actually find a great deal that is "vegetative" about the shapes, the interior shapes at least, of the Cathedral, if not the ascending towers of the exterior.  The ancient Cathedral of Salisbury is certainly an awesome work of art and accomplishment, once the towering and beautiful center of the city.

This is a contemporary statue of a saint that stands outside the Cathedral.  I do not know who she is....once there was a plaque, but it seems to be gone, that described the statue.  But she has great presence there.  

One of the Personae of Salisbury, hidden away in a corner.  An angel?  But there are no wings.  She holds vessel with perhaps water........perhaps she represents St. Brigid, who was always associated with wells.

I love the floor too, being an artist who has made tiles.  

The installation of some contemporary sculptures look quite odd in the Cloister courtyard, in contrast to such history.   

 

This is from a room that has a running Biblical story above each arch, carved in marble.  This one is "Adam and Eve".  Under each arch is also a face, which I assume was meant to represent local people who were involved somehow with the construction of the Cathedral.  Some of them are quite funny, in contrast with the seriousness of the stories they underlie.  This one especially made me laugh.........he looks like he's rather cynical about the whole "Adam and Eve" thing.  Or maybe he's leering. 

 As awesome as these great Gothic Cathedrals are, they are not without their touches of humor too.

And there was a kind of bench with special embroidered cushions in one of the Naves, each dedicated to an Angel or to a Saint.  I found them beautiful, and wondered if they were kind of like "reserving a seat of honor" for these holy ones.

Zoe's Camino de Santiago

All photos are copyright Zoe d'Ay (2014)

My friend Zoe d'Ay, who lives in Glastonbury, England, in 2014 walked the Camino de Santiago in Spain at the age of 68......something I have so often dreamed of myself!  She brought the Camino alive with her photos, and it was my delight to make a Blog for her and share vicariously her stories of "The Way" along with her beautiful photos of her Pilgrimage.  I wanted to  re-visit the Blog,  and walk with her again. The posts go backward, with the beginning of her journey at the beginning of the Blog. 

Zoe's Camino

 

 

 

 

The scallop shell is the symbol of the Camino, pointing the way all along the long pilgrimage route.   After Compostella, many pilgrims, as Zoe did,  continue on to Finisterre, "Lands End", where they truly finish their pilgrimage before the vastness of the Atlantic ocean.   As David Whyte wrote: "Because now, you would find a different way to tread, and because, through it all, part of you could still walk on,  no matter how........."

FINISTERRE

The road in the end taking the path the sun had taken,
into the western sea, and the moon rising behind you
as you stood where ground turned to ocean: no way
to your future now

but the way your shadow could take,
walking before you across water,

going where shadows go,

no way to make sense of a world that wouldn't let you pass
except to call an end to the way you had come,
to take out each frayed letter you brought
and light their illumined corners, and to read
them as they drifted through the western light;
to empty your bags;
to sort this and to leave that;

to promise what you needed to promise all along
and to abandon the shoes that had brought you here
right at the water's edge,

not because you had given up
but because now, you would find a different way to tread,
and because, through it all,
part of you could still walk on,
no matter how, over the waves.” 

― David Whyte
 

All photos are COPYRIGHT Zoe D'ay

Spring at Santa Fe Dam, a Preserve in Los Angeles

Finally processed these photos from May..........this is actually the park, near Azusa and right in the heart of Los Angeles, where the California Renaissance Faire is held.

More travels on the Coast..........

Just to be with the Pacific Ocean, north and south.  The strange knarled trees right out of Tolkien that line the edge of the world at Casper.  I notice that I always seem to find them as entranceways to somewhere else, perhaps some strange door to the world of Faery............

When I emerged to the overlook of Jughandle Beach, I was just in time to see a wedding in progress, just in time, in fact, to snap "the kiss".

This solitary  tree, clinging so tenatiously to the edge of the cliff, is an old friend of mine.

And here is South, way south of Casper, at La Jolla down by San Diego.  I am eternally fascinated by pelicans, graceless birds on land, but when they fly they are as precise and elegant as any air show imaginable.  Might like to come back as a pelican next lifetime, living above the ocean and fishing when I'm not preening my wings.  Seems very pleasurable.

Not to mention the seals, basking in the sun when they're not barking at each other.  Swimming dogs, fascinating to watch them play with each other in the water.

And schools of brightly colored  rainbow kayaks, ignored by the bored looking pelicans.

It's been so healing to be on the ocean, to visit Mother Ocean.  Thank you and great praise, Yemaya.

One last hibiscus...........................

What Did You Do?

It's 3:23 in the morning,
and I'm awake
because my great, great, grandchildren
 won't -let -me -sleep.
My great, great, grandchildren
ask me in dreams
what did you do, while the planet was plundered?
what did you do, when the earth was unravelling?
surely you did something when the seasons started failing
as the mammals, reptiles, and birds were all dying?
did you fill the streets with protest when democracy was stolen?
what did you do
once
you
knew

Drew Dellinger

I suppose, because my brother's funeral is immanent, that explains the kind of universal grief I feel on this trip.  And it is shocking to see the drought in Califorina.  Grief  sits in my chest, and follows me up the road, the unwelcome rider.  In my experience,  grief is something we need to say hello to, something you have to open the door to, offer a cup of tea, and listen to the stories Grief has to tell.  One way or another, Grief needs to be grieved out until our hearts break open in the places they need to break open, and we can emotionally "breath" again, have responsive hearts.  I don't mean make a permanent place for grief, to make a state religion of it like Queen Victoria did for her lost Albert.........but I do not believe it is possible to go forward without allowing loss its place.

 I find I am not so much grieving for my brother, but for the loss of so much, the strange experience of not having a family anymore (which is something many elders have to come to terms with),   so many people I've known.  I return to familiar places, expecting to find somehow my former self, and she is gone, not there.   And most of all, I grieve and pray for every precious being, pristine ocean, seaweed, the pink ladies that come up every August, rain or dry, giving us so much generous grace.  Thirsty little deer, seeking a drink at a diminished lake.  The grey fox slipping into the compost pile.  Redwoods, each one  a cathedral, reaching into the sky.  Bees.  Blackberries, growing beside the road.

Drew Dellinger

Angels in Nebraska - Part 2.

I have noticed, in fact, it's become obvious over the years, that we live in a world of everyday miracles. In an earlier BLOG entry (March 2008) I was awed to find, right on the street near where I lived, an autographed copy of a book by Nobel Laureate Doris Lessing - perhaps one of the most magical entries in my "Book of Common Miracles". Where does magic really begin, and when and where are the "Mythic Times", if not here, and now? So as I prepare to toddle down the road again, I want to put this on my blog as well, something that happened in 2005 as well.

In May of 2005 I began the long trip from Arizona to Connecticut for a residency at IPark Artists Enclave; I have been privileged to participate in two residencies there, and I will always be grateful to Ralph, Joanne, and the staff of Ipark for their generosity, support of the environment, and the arts.

It takes me about 5 long days to cross this enormous country. After a pleasant night among the pines in Flagstaff, I stopped at a rest stop in New Mexico, squatting on the ground and enjoying the view. Dusting off my skirt, I noticed a pair of fancy pliers literally at my feet. They seemed a useful find, so I picked them up and put them in my car. By the time I reached Missouri, I decided to take a detour to Nebraska, to find the graves of my grandfather and grandmother in Dewitt, a small village in the prairie near Beatrice. When my beloved grandmother, Glen, died in 1966, my family lived overseas, and my father flew alone back to the U.S. to return her body to Nebraska.

No one had visited those graves in 40 years, my own father, Kent, having passed away in 1976. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to pay my respects at last, to see as an adult the country she filled my imagination with. All I had was a child's memory of driving across the midwest with my family in the '50's, and endless Black-eyed Susans dancing and hissing in the hot prairie winds.

Dewitt is a village of maybe 4,000 people. It is still prosperous, thanks to a tool and die factory that has been successful since the 1920's. Petersen Manufacturing is particularly known for its founder's invention, the Vise-Grip Wrench. Which is why it's called the Vise-Grip Corporaton. 

When I found the old graveyard, I planted some flowers, said what I had to say to my grandmother's spirit and drove on, feeling very glad I made the trip.

After arriving in Connecticut, I cleaned out my car, and there were the pliers I found at my feet in the red dirt of western New Mexico. Stamped on the side was the legend:

"Vise-Grip: The Original"