In 1942, Reinhold Niebuhr, a professor at Union Seminary wrote a prayer long taking the recovery world by storm. Its short version states simply, “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
For those who have descended into the depths of alcoholism and drug addiction, powerlessness over one’s self destruction becomes an overwhelming despairing reality. Paradoxically, embracing one’s powerlessness is the first step up and out of the abyss of alcoholism and addiction. The beloved Catholic priest, Henri Nouwen, often wrote on the subject of powerlessness. In his elegant words, he showed us how we could embrace the lemons of powerlessness and turn them into lemonade. Niebuhr suggests there is divine help for our overwhelming problems; if we seek wisdom foremost.
Bill Wilson and Bob Smith connected the dots in 1935, soon discovering a community of mutual accountability grounded in powerlessness could be transformative. By owning their powerlessness over alcohol and coming to a conscious contact with a Power greater than themselves, they found what has proven to be the most effective pathway to the Source of liberation from alcoholism and addictions of a hundred kinds. By giving testimony of their own spiritual liberation from alcoholism to other still-suffering alcoholics, a community of accountability and service arose among less than half a dozen men shuttling between New York and Ohio. The transformation in these men was so complete and sustainable as to give rise to a larger community of recovered alcoholics now numbering in the millions, spanning eight decades and nearly two hundred nations.
Being on board ship in 75 MPH hurricane strength winds for two days reminds me of just how insignificant I really am. Bobbing as a cork on steel-gray mounds of undulating foam under dull leaden skies might be a bit demoralizing if one has expectations of life unfolding perfectly. One doesn’t usually spend thousands of dollars to ride eight hundred miles out into the stormy North Atlantic and be tossed about in a maelstrom. Sometimes the Caribbean’s cerulean skies and fair temperatures just don’t happen. It’s always winter somewhere on earth and I happened into it early.
Serenity is a precious state of mind and soul deriving from accepting those things I cannot change. I can’t change the climate or calm the seas but I can be thankful I have a warm bed to sleep in and all the grand dining I could ever wish for. I can accept that winter sometimes shows up early in the North Atlantic, reminding me of the Greater Cycles maintaining order in our world.
As a photographer wanting to photograph a distant destination new to me, dense cloud and steady rain has me stopped in my tracks. It is what it is. Being powerless over weather allows me to release my expectations. No one’s expecting me to get off the ship and ruin my cameras in cold rain. I’m only expected to accept life on life’s terms. Today I’m granted a warm dry place inside to write, read, and do my work.
Niebuhr suggests there are things we can change. Perhaps the most compelling candidate for change is my attitude. Do I whine because it’s raining and I want to be on shore filling up flash cards with images of paradise or do I give thanks for being able to have a rich experience despite what’s happening outside the glass? There could be many worse things than living on a beautiful ship with its fine dining, new friends, expansive music and entertainment options, even a first rate fitness facility.
It took but miniscule courage to change one small thing within my grasp – the hour at which I was willing to get out of my warm bed. I was well rewarded. As it turns out, each morning for about an hour at first light there’s been a break in the dense cloud, allowing me to photograph the front edge of day in its magenta, crimson, and cobalt glory. While thousands of others were inside sleeping, I was on deck by myself, collecting the unfolding panorama before me. For three days I’ve seen the heavens parted at first light, granting me a holographic view of paradise. Being willing to face into cold blustery winds created an indelible imprint of Heaven on my life.
Niebuhr suggests in his prayer we fare much better by asking for serenity to accept those things proving immutable and for courage to give our energies to changing those things malleable in our lives. Wisdom proves to be a lubricant for good living. Wisdom enables us to invest our limited power to change the small things we can and trust a Power greater than ourselves to change the big things beyond our capacity. Solomon, long considered the richest and wisest man in history asked God for only one thing, wisdom. We could do so well.
For those in recovery from alcoholism and addiction, tiny decisions can have huge consequences. Getting out of bed early to take photos won’t materially alter the future of my life but for those struggling to gain freedom from the prisons of alcoholism and addiction the tiny decision to take a drink or drug when faced with life’s moments of winter can set off a cascade of life-destroying consequences.
Serenity, the ability to accept things as they are, even if they be dense cold cloud and rain on a stormy sea, frees us from those emotional maelstroms so often sending us to seek refuge in altered chemical states of mind.
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Looking on the Bright Side Manhattan, New York 9-19-12
The flight to New York proved very short and surprisingly smooth. The pilot had warned us before takeoff of some rough air which never materialized. I was able to get some rather expansive sunrise cloud shots out a surprisingly clean window while having rather pleasing conversation with a third year medical student from Manhattan. We enjoyed the only empty seat in the plane between us. My seatmate had a boy friend picking her up and we ended up with a ride into Manhattan which instantly made the trip far less complicated and pleasing at the front end. Conversation with Janine, encouraging her to not lose her gentleness and compassion in her medical training was profoundly satisfying. The twelve-step program of recovery does well in informing one’s life in such a way as to enable giving experience strength, and hope. It really does make for a good social skill I was lacking in for too long.
I find New York surprisingly calm and ordered. After being exposed to the organic nature of places like London during the Queen’s Jubilee and Olympics, Manhattan feels almost sedate. David, my travel mate, found it overwhelming and wanted nothing to do with it. It’s interesting how the same environment creates such difference reactions in people. I can’t but wonder if I would do as poorly in a remote rural locale as David would in an intense urban one. It’s impossible to get lost in Manhattan, as it’s laid out on a perfect grid. I find vast cities rather interesting places. I wonder why I so often dream of getting lost in them, something I have not done in my waking hours.
We found ourselves at the Charlotte airport early, no one was waiting in security, our plane arrived early at JFK, and we were at the Port Authority dock two hours early by virtue of Janine’s generosity. There’s been no frantic sensibility whatever to our journey. One of the dock stewards took to us and we were admitted onto the ship earlier than many of the others. We were settled and eating at poolside by 1:30 PM. The passenger contingent seems older, almost blue collar, no kids. My preliminary brief encounters with passengers suggest this will be a pleasant group without a lot of pretense – basic wholesome good people having their one-time journey of a lifetime.
The weather and water are another story altogether. Fierce gale-strength winds blowing under angry spitting skies have stirred up a maelstrom. While still moored at the dock I estimated the winds at 50 knots steady and gusting higher, perhaps 70. I could not even hold a camera up most of the time. Manhattan was shrouded in cloud, no aureate sunset views of the skyline were in the offing tonight. I did get a few images, some of which will be useful for travelogues but nothing more; no contest winners here. For today, I will have to be content with transcendent cloud images I got from the plane. I’m still wondering how we had such a smooth descent into JFK with such intense wind prevailing at ground level.
The water proceeded to get much rougher in the evening as we moved out onto open sea; many people are hunkered down, too bad for those on their first day of their dream holiday. The ocean is rougher than what I experienced during the rare November category four hurricane of 1999. I ate a grand meal of coconut Thai chicken with several fine courses and then wobbled off to bed. Somewhere in my distant past I acquired the idea a very full stomach would provide relief to motion sickness. Apparently, this is true.
I fell asleep instantly for about eight hours, never even getting into bed. This was a good thing as I heard the water was hellatious from 11-2 during the night. I’m amazed I slept through it. Ignorance is sweet bliss in this case. Perhaps the work of recovery has allowed me to trust Someone else is really in charge, and it’s not me. Passengers reported having a long miserable night. The captain says we’ve had 60 mph winds directly off the beam the whole run thus far; gusting to 75. He reminded us this is the worst aspect from which to take wind.
I think of the story of Jesus sleeping in a boat while on a journey across the Sea of Galilee, a body of water notorious for getting stirred up in no time. His disciples became frantic with fear, convinced capsizing was imminent. Waking Jesus, they demanded he do something about their impending doom. He told the winds to be still; they obeyed. The disciples settled down, allowing their nascent faith to dissipate their overwhelming fear.
For those having learned to trust God with the affairs of their lives, fear is kept at bay, even when the winds do not calm down. Equanimity is the ability to be at peace, even when caught in the maelstroms of life. Serenity is the ground from which acceptance of life on life’s terms comes to us.
I have no assurance what the waters of life will look like tomorrow. They may again be steel-gray mounds of undulating foam with wind shrieking in the superstructures. They may be serene aquamarine mirrors with balmy breezes. No matter. In either case there is One who is in charge despite appearance to the contrary.
Before the foundations of time the days of my life were ordered, the hairs of my head numbered. It matters not what is before me. As Jesus trusted His father, may I do likewise. Perhaps I can then, as Jesus did, sleep through the storm at peace. For one once tortured for years by unceasing panic, anxiety, and fears of a hundred kinds, for one once unable to get on airplanes, unable to go in parts of my own house, this is a big deal of the highest order for me, especially out here on stormy seas.
Faith is the substance of things hoped for, of things yet unseen.
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
The Mid Night Blues Charlotte, North Carolina 9-18-12
The day started out as one of those typical of days starting too early; a bit gray and with some risk of stinking thinking. I’m free associating here in the middle of the night. I’m sitting here in the airport at Charlotte with about an hour and a half yet to wait for boarding so am using the time to write. Laptop computers certainly do make it easier to redeem time otherwise spent doing nothing useful in the middle of the night in airports. My head always goes through a strange discontinuity right before long journeys, especially while sitting in airports.
There’s a strange ambivalence in my mind. With my present recovery work I’ve gotten so attached to people on a daily basis that it’s hard to leave them. Yesterday I had a rather pleasant sense of farewell with one of my mid-day groups. In the past year or two I’ve enjoyed a sense of farewell from these groups I never got from a church, service club, or other organization. I only wish the larger culture could enjoy the sense of community those working programs of recovery bask in. People in recovery understand their need for community context to stay clean and sober. There would be a lot less loneliness, depression, and abject isolation so widespread in Western cultures if people found the joy and liberation coming from community rather than the self-sufficient “I-can-do-this-by-myself mentality” we have here in the US. I recall while in Norway in May the pleasant sense of anticipation of being with these dear people once again. Throughout much of my life I’ve never been in any hurry to return to the US after a long overseas journey. The past two years I’ve found myself happily returning home to a lot of welcome.
I’m barely leaving and I am already anticipating what I will be doing upon my return. I have a single mother who destroyed her life with methamphetamine. She’s starting to get a small bit of traction in her recovery and will get custody of her two children in late October. I have some furniture for her to re-constitute a household when I get back. I recall how bleak it was in my own childhood to be rootless and hauled around so much by an alcoholic addicted single mother. Having my own chest of drawers was a big deal. Others of us are putting together the rest of this young mother’s furnishings. Community does make a great difference to the fragile and marginalized.
More happily, I will begin teaching a foreign policy class at the local university when I return. I think I start on October 5. Curiously, having the context of meaningful responsibilities upon my return gives my present journey more meaning. The temporary disconnect from phones, e-mail, and daily deadlines is most splendid.
A splendid aspect of this journey is the torrid heat of southern summer will have passed by the time I return. We will then be entering into the best climate of the year. The magic of fall colors will be upon us, and there will be those pleasant anticipations of happy holiday events coming at this time of the year.
For the whole of my life I’ve had these strange dreams in which I’m in new cities and unable to find my way back to my lodgings. Sometimes this is a hotel, a dormitory on a campus, or a house. These dreams can often be profoundly unsettling. Upcoming travel makes these much more common. About a month ago I had about six of these in a row right after I booked two months in Australia. They were so intense as to actually be nightmares, waking me with pounding heart and anxiety. Last night I dreamed I had returned to a city I lived in for twelve years. I returned to find the city destroyed and decayed into a horrendous ghetto with all the buildings destroyed and the streets impassable because of the ruins of consumer life – old cars, appliances, furniture. These dreams may represent some sort of re-processing of those times in childhood when I was so fearful of never getting home again.
Hopefully sunset tonight will be from the deck of a ship and afford some fine skyline photos of New York’s Manhattan. I should be offshore from Portland Maine sometime tomorrow; then on to Halifax, Sydney, Cornerbrook, Quebec City, and Montreal. Hopefully fall colors will be well underway in a couple of weeks. I do find my head always gets into a much better place when I am taking images of the wonders of the world and giving them away. There’s just this discontinuity I always get at the beginning of a journey. I should be absolutely fine once arrived, awake, and not paranoid about missing connections. Some days these ‘cities’ dreams I’ve often had will make sense to me. I think in about an hour and half when I am on top of dense gray cloud at sunrise, life will instantly look much better. Happily, the gray zone at night in airports is short lived.
Sometimes the best way to appreciate home is to leave it, but not for too long. And don’t spend too much idle time in airports in the middle of the night!
I’m off!
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
There’s a strange ambivalence in my mind. With my present recovery work I’ve gotten so attached to people on a daily basis that it’s hard to leave them. Yesterday I had a rather pleasant sense of farewell with one of my mid-day groups. In the past year or two I’ve enjoyed a sense of farewell from these groups I never got from a church, service club, or other organization. I only wish the larger culture could enjoy the sense of community those working programs of recovery bask in. People in recovery understand their need for community context to stay clean and sober. There would be a lot less loneliness, depression, and abject isolation so widespread in Western cultures if people found the joy and liberation coming from community rather than the self-sufficient “I-can-do-this-by-myself mentality” we have here in the US. I recall while in Norway in May the pleasant sense of anticipation of being with these dear people once again. Throughout much of my life I’ve never been in any hurry to return to the US after a long overseas journey. The past two years I’ve found myself happily returning home to a lot of welcome.
I’m barely leaving and I am already anticipating what I will be doing upon my return. I have a single mother who destroyed her life with methamphetamine. She’s starting to get a small bit of traction in her recovery and will get custody of her two children in late October. I have some furniture for her to re-constitute a household when I get back. I recall how bleak it was in my own childhood to be rootless and hauled around so much by an alcoholic addicted single mother. Having my own chest of drawers was a big deal. Others of us are putting together the rest of this young mother’s furnishings. Community does make a great difference to the fragile and marginalized.
More happily, I will begin teaching a foreign policy class at the local university when I return. I think I start on October 5. Curiously, having the context of meaningful responsibilities upon my return gives my present journey more meaning. The temporary disconnect from phones, e-mail, and daily deadlines is most splendid.
A splendid aspect of this journey is the torrid heat of southern summer will have passed by the time I return. We will then be entering into the best climate of the year. The magic of fall colors will be upon us, and there will be those pleasant anticipations of happy holiday events coming at this time of the year.
For the whole of my life I’ve had these strange dreams in which I’m in new cities and unable to find my way back to my lodgings. Sometimes this is a hotel, a dormitory on a campus, or a house. These dreams can often be profoundly unsettling. Upcoming travel makes these much more common. About a month ago I had about six of these in a row right after I booked two months in Australia. They were so intense as to actually be nightmares, waking me with pounding heart and anxiety. Last night I dreamed I had returned to a city I lived in for twelve years. I returned to find the city destroyed and decayed into a horrendous ghetto with all the buildings destroyed and the streets impassable because of the ruins of consumer life – old cars, appliances, furniture. These dreams may represent some sort of re-processing of those times in childhood when I was so fearful of never getting home again.
Hopefully sunset tonight will be from the deck of a ship and afford some fine skyline photos of New York’s Manhattan. I should be offshore from Portland Maine sometime tomorrow; then on to Halifax, Sydney, Cornerbrook, Quebec City, and Montreal. Hopefully fall colors will be well underway in a couple of weeks. I do find my head always gets into a much better place when I am taking images of the wonders of the world and giving them away. There’s just this discontinuity I always get at the beginning of a journey. I should be absolutely fine once arrived, awake, and not paranoid about missing connections. Some days these ‘cities’ dreams I’ve often had will make sense to me. I think in about an hour and half when I am on top of dense gray cloud at sunrise, life will instantly look much better. Happily, the gray zone at night in airports is short lived.
Sometimes the best way to appreciate home is to leave it, but not for too long. And don’t spend too much idle time in airports in the middle of the night!
I’m off!
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Minding Matters Mattering Most 5-26-12
DELAYED POSTING FROM LONDON ENGLAND
London, England
I’ve often described emotional sobriety as a bit like a rare tropical fern, something precious needing attentive daily care. To extend the botanical metaphor just a bit, if I want to feel a sense of serenity and peace and be spared the traumas of fear, anger, worry, self pity, and foolish decisions, it’s necessary for me to do the spiritual equivalents of pruning, misting, fertilizing, re-potting, watering, and providing proper light. Having attempted to keep Australian tree ferns alive, I quickly found out just how quickly a beautiful plant can be reduced to a shriveled mass of compost by benign neglect.
Having been through several dark nights of the soul it’s also very real to me just how quickly one can be cast into an unimaginable inner darkness, a bleak life-sapping experience beyond articulation. This can happen far more quickly than the time needed for a tree fern to wither. I’ve seen people transformed in seconds from strong robust self-confident individuals into blubbering frightened husks in need of long-term confinement. What appears to be common to all of us having been through such experiences is an antecedent lack of careful attention to our spiritual condition.
In secular society it becomes all too easy to give time and attention to matters not mattering in the least to our spiritual condition; neglecting the faith, confidence, and serenity deriving from a true trust in God, or as we are inclined to say in recovery, trust in a Higher Power. While chasing after the American Dream, we lose sight of the essentials, often ending up with shriveled nightmares instead of rich living full of gusto.
I’ve just been to a physical form of paradise, a pristine crime-free land of alpine wonder, glaciers, peaks shrouded in iridescent cloud, and rainbows where one finds no ghettos, no litter, no industrial nightmares. I’ve recently returned to another form of urban paradise only to find I’ve not been minding matters mattering most.
I did not do my stretching or strength work in preparation for strenuous hiking in the mountains and paid for about four days with screaming quads. Not only could I not go up and down mountains for a few days I couldn’t even go down stairs and found myself using the elevators to go down. I’ve long used stair climbers and assorted machines in the gym to go up but have not been balanced, not preparing for the downhill journey. Going downhill in life can be far more treacherous than sweet ascensions. My quads gave me daily lessons all week about the need for proper balance.
As I chase down all the architectural and cultural treasures to be had in a thousand year old city, I find myself still struggling with putting first things first, minding matters mattering most. By 3 AM I’ve had a day filled with good things, but perhaps not the best things. I’ve seen the world, observed sublime performances, taken thousands of photographs, written essays, kept up correspondence; yet not noticing my leaves are wilting badly.
In one of my all-too-few times of meditation and prayer on this epic journey, an anonymous writer speaks clearly to me. “Discipline of yourself is absolutely necessary before the power of God is given to you. When you see others manifesting the power of God, you probably have not seen the discipline that went before. They made themselves ready. All your life is a preparation for more good to be accomplished when God knows you are ready for it. So keep disciplining yourself in the spiritual life every day. Learn so much of the spiritual laws that your life cannot again be a failure. Others will see the outward manifestation of the inward discipline in your daily living.”
Perhaps what I do here in the hidden space of my little room in a Victorian row house is far more important than what I do out there on the stage of life with cameras, pen, or word. The Holy Grail of recovery is a vital spiritual experience, a transformation, a result coming from practicing prayer and meditation frequently to improve our conscious contact with God. As we do this, we see the power of God manifesting in our lives. As the power of God manifests in our lives, those around us become curious as to how it is our lives are working so well, we are then able to simply live lives of attraction rather than self promotion.
I can now plan on going to bed the same day I get up, no longer tyrannized by trying to prove anything. I might even find refreshment for my soul, no longer desiccated by putting good things before the best things.
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
London, England
I’ve often described emotional sobriety as a bit like a rare tropical fern, something precious needing attentive daily care. To extend the botanical metaphor just a bit, if I want to feel a sense of serenity and peace and be spared the traumas of fear, anger, worry, self pity, and foolish decisions, it’s necessary for me to do the spiritual equivalents of pruning, misting, fertilizing, re-potting, watering, and providing proper light. Having attempted to keep Australian tree ferns alive, I quickly found out just how quickly a beautiful plant can be reduced to a shriveled mass of compost by benign neglect.
Having been through several dark nights of the soul it’s also very real to me just how quickly one can be cast into an unimaginable inner darkness, a bleak life-sapping experience beyond articulation. This can happen far more quickly than the time needed for a tree fern to wither. I’ve seen people transformed in seconds from strong robust self-confident individuals into blubbering frightened husks in need of long-term confinement. What appears to be common to all of us having been through such experiences is an antecedent lack of careful attention to our spiritual condition.
In secular society it becomes all too easy to give time and attention to matters not mattering in the least to our spiritual condition; neglecting the faith, confidence, and serenity deriving from a true trust in God, or as we are inclined to say in recovery, trust in a Higher Power. While chasing after the American Dream, we lose sight of the essentials, often ending up with shriveled nightmares instead of rich living full of gusto.
I’ve just been to a physical form of paradise, a pristine crime-free land of alpine wonder, glaciers, peaks shrouded in iridescent cloud, and rainbows where one finds no ghettos, no litter, no industrial nightmares. I’ve recently returned to another form of urban paradise only to find I’ve not been minding matters mattering most.
I did not do my stretching or strength work in preparation for strenuous hiking in the mountains and paid for about four days with screaming quads. Not only could I not go up and down mountains for a few days I couldn’t even go down stairs and found myself using the elevators to go down. I’ve long used stair climbers and assorted machines in the gym to go up but have not been balanced, not preparing for the downhill journey. Going downhill in life can be far more treacherous than sweet ascensions. My quads gave me daily lessons all week about the need for proper balance.
As I chase down all the architectural and cultural treasures to be had in a thousand year old city, I find myself still struggling with putting first things first, minding matters mattering most. By 3 AM I’ve had a day filled with good things, but perhaps not the best things. I’ve seen the world, observed sublime performances, taken thousands of photographs, written essays, kept up correspondence; yet not noticing my leaves are wilting badly.
In one of my all-too-few times of meditation and prayer on this epic journey, an anonymous writer speaks clearly to me. “Discipline of yourself is absolutely necessary before the power of God is given to you. When you see others manifesting the power of God, you probably have not seen the discipline that went before. They made themselves ready. All your life is a preparation for more good to be accomplished when God knows you are ready for it. So keep disciplining yourself in the spiritual life every day. Learn so much of the spiritual laws that your life cannot again be a failure. Others will see the outward manifestation of the inward discipline in your daily living.”
Perhaps what I do here in the hidden space of my little room in a Victorian row house is far more important than what I do out there on the stage of life with cameras, pen, or word. The Holy Grail of recovery is a vital spiritual experience, a transformation, a result coming from practicing prayer and meditation frequently to improve our conscious contact with God. As we do this, we see the power of God manifesting in our lives. As the power of God manifests in our lives, those around us become curious as to how it is our lives are working so well, we are then able to simply live lives of attraction rather than self promotion.
I can now plan on going to bed the same day I get up, no longer tyrannized by trying to prove anything. I might even find refreshment for my soul, no longer desiccated by putting good things before the best things.
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
Crystallizing a Vision for Living Well 5-24-12
DELAYED POSTING FROM EIDFJORD NORWAY
Eidfjord, Norway
I remember the unbounded eagerness I had the first time I awoke in a tent in the New Mexico desert anticipating a journey to the farthest reaches of Carlsbad Caverns. Awaking to first light at 3:30 PM today provided a similar delicious anticipation. Six thousand foot granite walls frosted with glaciers are not the usual backdrop to my mornings in South Carolina, but the actualization of my creative absence includes a geographic cure.
Seeing the Eidfjord on a calendar page is very different than the holographic sensibility one experiences after a climb a thousand feet up the nearest escarpment. As I take in the vistas about me I wonder about life. In some respects that wondering seems easier here.
It’s easier to gain clarity when one can step back far enough to achieve clear vision. So often when we are down in our sometimes-over challenging circumstances we are too close to focus on a solution. It’s when we step back and simply say, “God I’m done now, You can start” that we begin to see Him do some amazing things in our lives. Owning our own powerlessness can be the most powerful thing we ever do.
Standing here on deck at late sunset seeing this surreal landscape is a physical metaphor for seeing spiritually. As magnificent as it is to see this crystalline realm, how much grander is being able to see God’s will crystallize in my life. When I decide to let God do the choosing, I get His best. I’m not sure why it is I’ve so often been allowed to end up in these physical paradises when so many people are in major struggles every day just to get by. What I do know is God doesn’t play favorites and there is a form of gold at the end of every rainbow for each of us.
I know when I leave this heavenly land in the far north and journey back to the torrid American south, I’m going to be returning to a place filled with many precious nuggets of gold. I can name many of you. On this journey I’ve heard from more than a hundred of you, some of you daily or more. What’s made this journey so rich has been the opportunity to share big chunks of it in real time with the real gold in my life.
In a certain sense the rainbows in Eidfjord are nothing more than plays on light we can never touch. What’s certain is I can touch and hug so many of you when I make the leap of faith and allow myself to be placed exactly where God thinks I will do best. For now that will be back in that little speck of a town in South Carolina the people in Aselund have never heard of. I suspect a rainbow just might show up in some desperately needed rain there.
As I contemplate an eventual return home I find myself with the same eagerness of spirit I had decades ago when I went to Carlsbad Caverns. Eidfjord is wondrous. Carlsbad is wondrous, but the will of God is the best place on earth of all. For me I know exactly where that is; I just get to bask in some pretty spectacular sights along the way home.
Watch for rainbows.
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
Eidfjord, Norway
I remember the unbounded eagerness I had the first time I awoke in a tent in the New Mexico desert anticipating a journey to the farthest reaches of Carlsbad Caverns. Awaking to first light at 3:30 PM today provided a similar delicious anticipation. Six thousand foot granite walls frosted with glaciers are not the usual backdrop to my mornings in South Carolina, but the actualization of my creative absence includes a geographic cure.
Seeing the Eidfjord on a calendar page is very different than the holographic sensibility one experiences after a climb a thousand feet up the nearest escarpment. As I take in the vistas about me I wonder about life. In some respects that wondering seems easier here.
It’s easier to gain clarity when one can step back far enough to achieve clear vision. So often when we are down in our sometimes-over challenging circumstances we are too close to focus on a solution. It’s when we step back and simply say, “God I’m done now, You can start” that we begin to see Him do some amazing things in our lives. Owning our own powerlessness can be the most powerful thing we ever do.
Standing here on deck at late sunset seeing this surreal landscape is a physical metaphor for seeing spiritually. As magnificent as it is to see this crystalline realm, how much grander is being able to see God’s will crystallize in my life. When I decide to let God do the choosing, I get His best. I’m not sure why it is I’ve so often been allowed to end up in these physical paradises when so many people are in major struggles every day just to get by. What I do know is God doesn’t play favorites and there is a form of gold at the end of every rainbow for each of us.
I know when I leave this heavenly land in the far north and journey back to the torrid American south, I’m going to be returning to a place filled with many precious nuggets of gold. I can name many of you. On this journey I’ve heard from more than a hundred of you, some of you daily or more. What’s made this journey so rich has been the opportunity to share big chunks of it in real time with the real gold in my life.
In a certain sense the rainbows in Eidfjord are nothing more than plays on light we can never touch. What’s certain is I can touch and hug so many of you when I make the leap of faith and allow myself to be placed exactly where God thinks I will do best. For now that will be back in that little speck of a town in South Carolina the people in Aselund have never heard of. I suspect a rainbow just might show up in some desperately needed rain there.
As I contemplate an eventual return home I find myself with the same eagerness of spirit I had decades ago when I went to Carlsbad Caverns. Eidfjord is wondrous. Carlsbad is wondrous, but the will of God is the best place on earth of all. For me I know exactly where that is; I just get to bask in some pretty spectacular sights along the way home.
Watch for rainbows.
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
Constitution Day - 5-17-12
DELAYED POSTING FROM ALESUND NORWAY
Alesund, Norway
It’s always been a grand delight for me to get lost in clouds of people, be it on a crowded dance floor, a jovial happy dining room, a theater lobby at intermission. Today it was an epic parade. 198 years ago Norway achieved its independence and the sense of patriotism is a sight to behold. The rest of the world has much to learn from Alesund about staging grand public events.
There are 45,000 people living in Alesund and I‘m certain every one of them came out of the woodwork at 9:45 AM to show up for a Constitution Day parade. Everyone dresses formally for this parade, participants and observers alike. It’s astounding how elaborate traditional dress is; opulent cuts of worsted wool with much ornamentation added. The entire city was closed for the day with speeches, church services, and large happy meals being the order of the day following the parade. On a cloudy sub-arctic day where spring has a tenuous hold at best, the thousands of brilliant Norwegian flags and costumes made colorful imaging effortless.
I managed to garner a viewing spot in the street along the parade route and with a 10 mm ultra-wide angle lens was able to capture the wonder of the entire event. The parade passed less than eighteen inches from me. Participants and observers paused before me, making clean sharp images effortless to collect. Bands, floats, color guards, drill teams, and every school class in the city participated with great enthusiasm. A dojo even had its martial arts students out in their whites.
Even in the midst of a vast happy crowd, one is able to be a bit introspective and wonder about the rich lives of all these people around me. I’d never even heard of the city of Alesund before. These very attractive patriotic and athletically fit people live in a virtually crime-free country with nearly the highest standard of living in the world. I wonder about the story each of these individuals could tell of their lives. What was once an unknown dot on a map has become a vibrant textured world of great color and feel.
Even as I have essentially no meaningful knowledge of the dot that is Alesund, neither do they have knowledge of the dot that is my hometown. Even with the severe challenges my town faces, ones essentially unknown to Alesund, my little troubled city gives me a sense of history and place I will never have in Alesund, even if I stayed here another twenty years. When I return home I will hear my phone ring constantly, get a hundred e-mail a day, see clouds of friends in the gym and university, even hold forth in the retail shops. One of the important lessons of creative absence is learning community is really not place dependent as much as it is people dependent.
Unlike so many prior voyages I’ve made, I find myself relishing the view of a familiar face, especially if I find my glasses in the Bank of England. Perhaps there really is no place like home, even if one has just been to paradise.
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
Alesund, Norway
It’s always been a grand delight for me to get lost in clouds of people, be it on a crowded dance floor, a jovial happy dining room, a theater lobby at intermission. Today it was an epic parade. 198 years ago Norway achieved its independence and the sense of patriotism is a sight to behold. The rest of the world has much to learn from Alesund about staging grand public events.
There are 45,000 people living in Alesund and I‘m certain every one of them came out of the woodwork at 9:45 AM to show up for a Constitution Day parade. Everyone dresses formally for this parade, participants and observers alike. It’s astounding how elaborate traditional dress is; opulent cuts of worsted wool with much ornamentation added. The entire city was closed for the day with speeches, church services, and large happy meals being the order of the day following the parade. On a cloudy sub-arctic day where spring has a tenuous hold at best, the thousands of brilliant Norwegian flags and costumes made colorful imaging effortless.
I managed to garner a viewing spot in the street along the parade route and with a 10 mm ultra-wide angle lens was able to capture the wonder of the entire event. The parade passed less than eighteen inches from me. Participants and observers paused before me, making clean sharp images effortless to collect. Bands, floats, color guards, drill teams, and every school class in the city participated with great enthusiasm. A dojo even had its martial arts students out in their whites.
Even in the midst of a vast happy crowd, one is able to be a bit introspective and wonder about the rich lives of all these people around me. I’d never even heard of the city of Alesund before. These very attractive patriotic and athletically fit people live in a virtually crime-free country with nearly the highest standard of living in the world. I wonder about the story each of these individuals could tell of their lives. What was once an unknown dot on a map has become a vibrant textured world of great color and feel.
Even as I have essentially no meaningful knowledge of the dot that is Alesund, neither do they have knowledge of the dot that is my hometown. Even with the severe challenges my town faces, ones essentially unknown to Alesund, my little troubled city gives me a sense of history and place I will never have in Alesund, even if I stayed here another twenty years. When I return home I will hear my phone ring constantly, get a hundred e-mail a day, see clouds of friends in the gym and university, even hold forth in the retail shops. One of the important lessons of creative absence is learning community is really not place dependent as much as it is people dependent.
Unlike so many prior voyages I’ve made, I find myself relishing the view of a familiar face, especially if I find my glasses in the Bank of England. Perhaps there really is no place like home, even if one has just been to paradise.
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
A Creative Absence 5-23-12
DELAYED POSTING FROM GEIRANGER NORWAY
Geiranger, Norway
Some months ago I came across an e-mail for voyages into the fjords of Norway. I was utterly captivated by an image of the Geiranger Fjord taken from the top of Mt. Dalsnibba. The view of deep blue copper-colored waters inspired me to consider a long-distance leave-taking from my often intense responsibilities. Copper salts from glacial melt produce a translucent blue unlike anything else.
For several reasons it had been growing on me to taking a substantial leave of several months from my usual schedule. In North America I found myself getting only six-hundred miles away but having many splendid experiences since the beginning of March in half a dozen states. I now find myself near the Arctic Circle in what many regard as one of the most magnificent heritage sites on earth. There’s no hyperbole involved.
I had the good sense to arise about 4 AM for sunrise which comes so very early this time of year in the far north. For several hours I was transfixed by views of brilliant glaciers, rocky peaks cloaked in shroud cloud, a stillness of the highest order. Winding our way through narrow canyons with their rock walls extending thousands of feet vertically reminded me of spiritual imperatives regarding the difficulty inherent in threading needles.
Arriving at the end of what’s considered the most spectacular fjord on earth, we found a village with 200 year-round residents. There’s a powerful sense of utter isolation and remoteness here. It’s hard to imagine a better visual metaphor for intentional creative absence than being in such a sublime and remote location.
My plan all along had been to climb to the top of one of these vast igneous blocks and attempt to capture the view as seen from Mt. Dalsnibba. The higher elevations are still problematic and road access is closed for avalanche warnings. Happily, a small half sheet of paper from the village provided a rough sketch of a trail head just outside the village, a trail promising a view much like that from Mt. Dalsnibba. A pleasing route led through larch and birch forest and across high pasture and meadow land. A herd of Llamas made me wonder if somehow I had ended up in the Andes instead. These inquisitive gentle beasts were quite happy to participate in a portrait sitting.
Five hours proved barely sufficient to reach my destination and gawk at paradise. A physician hiking down mountain encouraged me to persevere as did another fellow out doing an extreme jog up the mountain. A rocky final ascent with a bit of rope-assist provided a splendid clear view of the deep blue waters of Geiranger Fjord as I had seen in an e-mail months ago. Somehow my visual metaphor is now complete. At this point I now need to discern the true lessons to be had from climbing up and looking down on paradise.
I’m wondering why it is that I have been granted to be able to have such a transcendent experience, looking straight down from a great igneous block. There is something rather heady and a bit disorienting about standing on a razor-sharp edge dropping more than a thousand feet. Perhaps I will find that being grounded on the same level with those people in my community of choice is every bit as inspiring.
I’m finding in recent days a longing to speak with many I’ve not spoken to in some time. Did I have to come this far to learn the obvious - the grass is greener on my side of the fence, even if paradise is just on the other side, a thousand feet down? Perhaps the most beautiful view is found in the face of a good friend who knows how to touch my soul.
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
Geiranger, Norway
Some months ago I came across an e-mail for voyages into the fjords of Norway. I was utterly captivated by an image of the Geiranger Fjord taken from the top of Mt. Dalsnibba. The view of deep blue copper-colored waters inspired me to consider a long-distance leave-taking from my often intense responsibilities. Copper salts from glacial melt produce a translucent blue unlike anything else.
For several reasons it had been growing on me to taking a substantial leave of several months from my usual schedule. In North America I found myself getting only six-hundred miles away but having many splendid experiences since the beginning of March in half a dozen states. I now find myself near the Arctic Circle in what many regard as one of the most magnificent heritage sites on earth. There’s no hyperbole involved.
I had the good sense to arise about 4 AM for sunrise which comes so very early this time of year in the far north. For several hours I was transfixed by views of brilliant glaciers, rocky peaks cloaked in shroud cloud, a stillness of the highest order. Winding our way through narrow canyons with their rock walls extending thousands of feet vertically reminded me of spiritual imperatives regarding the difficulty inherent in threading needles.
Arriving at the end of what’s considered the most spectacular fjord on earth, we found a village with 200 year-round residents. There’s a powerful sense of utter isolation and remoteness here. It’s hard to imagine a better visual metaphor for intentional creative absence than being in such a sublime and remote location.
My plan all along had been to climb to the top of one of these vast igneous blocks and attempt to capture the view as seen from Mt. Dalsnibba. The higher elevations are still problematic and road access is closed for avalanche warnings. Happily, a small half sheet of paper from the village provided a rough sketch of a trail head just outside the village, a trail promising a view much like that from Mt. Dalsnibba. A pleasing route led through larch and birch forest and across high pasture and meadow land. A herd of Llamas made me wonder if somehow I had ended up in the Andes instead. These inquisitive gentle beasts were quite happy to participate in a portrait sitting.
Five hours proved barely sufficient to reach my destination and gawk at paradise. A physician hiking down mountain encouraged me to persevere as did another fellow out doing an extreme jog up the mountain. A rocky final ascent with a bit of rope-assist provided a splendid clear view of the deep blue waters of Geiranger Fjord as I had seen in an e-mail months ago. Somehow my visual metaphor is now complete. At this point I now need to discern the true lessons to be had from climbing up and looking down on paradise.
I’m wondering why it is that I have been granted to be able to have such a transcendent experience, looking straight down from a great igneous block. There is something rather heady and a bit disorienting about standing on a razor-sharp edge dropping more than a thousand feet. Perhaps I will find that being grounded on the same level with those people in my community of choice is every bit as inspiring.
I’m finding in recent days a longing to speak with many I’ve not spoken to in some time. Did I have to come this far to learn the obvious - the grass is greener on my side of the fence, even if paradise is just on the other side, a thousand feet down? Perhaps the most beautiful view is found in the face of a good friend who knows how to touch my soul.
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
Transcendence 5-22-12
DELAYED POSTING FROM BERGEN NORWAY
Bergen, Norway
The thin shroud of cloud I mentioned yesterday gave way and Bergen proves to be a colorful, clean, solidly-built city in a rather grand setting in brilliant sun. Getting a clear day here is a big deal as this region of the world has some of the densest cloud cover with often-heavy rain nearly three quarters of the time.
Bergen has a splendid funicular, a traction tram ascending Mt. Flojen, affording a spectacular view of a metro area of a quarter million residents on clear days. Traction tram railways are much like ski-lifts, offering rather splendid quickly-changing views as one ascends steep terrain. The sensibility is not unlike hot air balloons dropping ballast and released to free flight. We hit the weather jackpot today.
Acquiring a wide-angle lens two weeks ago proved a rather grand plan, as Mt Flojen affords vast panoramic views of the city below with mountains and harbors providing fine topography to capture with cameras. I can only hope carrying tripods, bags, and several cameras give me the appearance of a field-trained photographer rather than a gawking tourist. The reality is I’m a gawking tourist despite taking thousands of images and filling multiple drives.
As in all Scandinavian countries, local and national economies derive their economic resources from the sea. Fine fresh fish markets are prominent and the one here in Bergen makes me wish for a way to transport wondrous huge salmon fillets to one of my freezers. I will have to be content eating it on site and taking pictures of it. I’m having it daily along with sprinklings of capers. To reiterate, my creative absence does not include fasting in any way.
Churches are much smaller and less prominent in the urban landscape here. However, the Lutheran Cathedral of St. Olaf and the parish church of Korskirken did provide interesting photo ops. The original building at Korskirken dates from 1100 AD with the newest parts dating from about 1610 AD. The history suggests the church once had a vibrant role in public life here. It’s no longer used as a church per se but does find use as a cultural venue and a mission for homeless, addicted, and mentally challenged individuals. A crew came into set up sound stages and lighting trees for a music festival within minutes of my completing a photo survey of the interior. My timing could not have been better.
The Bergenhus Festning is an extensive complex of castle structures and fortifications reminding me, as virtually every place does, of the consistently warlike and adversarial nature of people when given too much money or power. I’m reminded of a powerful explorer/warrior mindset dating back thirteen hundred years in this region. The Bergenhus Festning at present makes a fine place for gawking tourists to climb around and pretend to be working for National Geographic on dangerous field assignments. One could certainly die taking pictures of this fortification as railings on high ramparts are considered an unnecessary site improvement; a good thing for photos but demanding one pay attention and never back up for a wide-angle shot.
Dinner was about five courses with Norwegian chowder, mountain trout, and other delights of the region. Life is tasty and cool. The hot muggy American south is forgotten in this cool near-arctic climate. I imagine I will be longing for this cool air again in a few weeks.
Bergen, Norway
The thin shroud of cloud I mentioned yesterday gave way and Bergen proves to be a colorful, clean, solidly-built city in a rather grand setting in brilliant sun. Getting a clear day here is a big deal as this region of the world has some of the densest cloud cover with often-heavy rain nearly three quarters of the time.
Bergen has a splendid funicular, a traction tram ascending Mt. Flojen, affording a spectacular view of a metro area of a quarter million residents on clear days. Traction tram railways are much like ski-lifts, offering rather splendid quickly-changing views as one ascends steep terrain. The sensibility is not unlike hot air balloons dropping ballast and released to free flight. We hit the weather jackpot today.
Acquiring a wide-angle lens two weeks ago proved a rather grand plan, as Mt Flojen affords vast panoramic views of the city below with mountains and harbors providing fine topography to capture with cameras. I can only hope carrying tripods, bags, and several cameras give me the appearance of a field-trained photographer rather than a gawking tourist. The reality is I’m a gawking tourist despite taking thousands of images and filling multiple drives.
As in all Scandinavian countries, local and national economies derive their economic resources from the sea. Fine fresh fish markets are prominent and the one here in Bergen makes me wish for a way to transport wondrous huge salmon fillets to one of my freezers. I will have to be content eating it on site and taking pictures of it. I’m having it daily along with sprinklings of capers. To reiterate, my creative absence does not include fasting in any way.
Churches are much smaller and less prominent in the urban landscape here. However, the Lutheran Cathedral of St. Olaf and the parish church of Korskirken did provide interesting photo ops. The original building at Korskirken dates from 1100 AD with the newest parts dating from about 1610 AD. The history suggests the church once had a vibrant role in public life here. It’s no longer used as a church per se but does find use as a cultural venue and a mission for homeless, addicted, and mentally challenged individuals. A crew came into set up sound stages and lighting trees for a music festival within minutes of my completing a photo survey of the interior. My timing could not have been better.
The Bergenhus Festning is an extensive complex of castle structures and fortifications reminding me, as virtually every place does, of the consistently warlike and adversarial nature of people when given too much money or power. I’m reminded of a powerful explorer/warrior mindset dating back thirteen hundred years in this region. The Bergenhus Festning at present makes a fine place for gawking tourists to climb around and pretend to be working for National Geographic on dangerous field assignments. One could certainly die taking pictures of this fortification as railings on high ramparts are considered an unnecessary site improvement; a good thing for photos but demanding one pay attention and never back up for a wide-angle shot.
Dinner was about five courses with Norwegian chowder, mountain trout, and other delights of the region. Life is tasty and cool. The hot muggy American south is forgotten in this cool near-arctic climate. I imagine I will be longing for this cool air again in a few weeks.
The White Cliffs of Dover 5-22-12
DELAYED POSTING FROM BERGEN NORWAY
Somewhere in the North Sea
It’s a glorious cerulean day here at the White Cliffs of Dover. After a generous repast in the refectory at Canterbury Cathedral there was sufficient time to walk about Canterbury’s town centre and visit the Canterbury Castle, which claims the largest central keep of any British castle. The appearance of the castle suggests very early Norman, perhaps as early as the post-war era after the Battle of Hastings (1066 AD). There’s something haunting about staircases no longer having landings, going to nowhere but open sky. A sound common in ancient castles is that of pigeons clucking in long abandoned fireplaces and holes where floor timbers once were inserted in tower walls. Castles are grand places to let one’s imagination run free.
Trains in Britain must somehow be synchronized to atomic clocks. They’re immensely punctual. Yesterday a conductor said the target for arrival accuracy is 30 seconds. Taking a train from Canterbury was a non-event excepting for the wondrous views of rape seed fields in full bloom. A most jovial and affable conductor sat next to me and offered fine conversation, a wonderful way to pleasantly compress travel time. The journey seemed but seconds in duration. Seamless continuous welded rail makes for the smoothest possible ride in quiet carriages. I find myself lamenting living in a country where the rail system was torn out and replaced by clogged interstates. There’s no grander way to travel than in a fine train.
The ship terminals in Dover are relics from the Victorian era, fine spans of decorative iron and pleasing brick walls with nice detailing. I often feel like I’m in a Jules Verne novel when in these fine old brick structures from the 19th century. Aspects of these terminal buildings remind me of the funky ones on the hill at the Royal Naval Observatory, with their cool clocks, telescopes, and ornamentation.
As we sailed past the White Cliffs of Dover I thought of all the British and American soldiers leaving those cliffs for the perilous channel crossing during the Second World War. I wonder how many tears of gratitude soaked into those white chalks from young soldiers able to come home. For those never returning, their families no doubt did their weeping and grief work in a thousand small hamlets and villages across the land. I think there’s merit in contemplating the challenges certain iconic locations represent. The English Channel was certainly one of the prominent strategic theaters of operation in that tragic episode in humanity’s incivility.
As I write this, we have traversed the English Channel and are now headed into the North Sea. The waters have been calm for six hours and there’s now the barest hint of swell at present; more a pleasant sensibility promoting good sleep at sea. Intense aerobic exercise on an upper deck was followed by a grand four-course dinner at sunset, served on about twenty plates and bowls of Rosenthal china. I’m feeling rather well kept again.
I’ve met a dozen people already in a few hours and even have a promise of a lift to a fine castle upon our return to Dover. This is a very large well conserved castle in an imposing setting on a promontory. I’ve seen it from two miles out to sea several times in the past but never was able to visit. It’s a fine carrot to look forward to, as if I need motivational carrots besides glaciers and fjords in one of the most beautiful regions on earth.
There are a hundred things I could easily write down in my gratitude list for this day. Gratitude is described as the Queen of Emotions. I’m again feeling rather royal.
Somewhere in the North Sea
It’s a glorious cerulean day here at the White Cliffs of Dover. After a generous repast in the refectory at Canterbury Cathedral there was sufficient time to walk about Canterbury’s town centre and visit the Canterbury Castle, which claims the largest central keep of any British castle. The appearance of the castle suggests very early Norman, perhaps as early as the post-war era after the Battle of Hastings (1066 AD). There’s something haunting about staircases no longer having landings, going to nowhere but open sky. A sound common in ancient castles is that of pigeons clucking in long abandoned fireplaces and holes where floor timbers once were inserted in tower walls. Castles are grand places to let one’s imagination run free.
Trains in Britain must somehow be synchronized to atomic clocks. They’re immensely punctual. Yesterday a conductor said the target for arrival accuracy is 30 seconds. Taking a train from Canterbury was a non-event excepting for the wondrous views of rape seed fields in full bloom. A most jovial and affable conductor sat next to me and offered fine conversation, a wonderful way to pleasantly compress travel time. The journey seemed but seconds in duration. Seamless continuous welded rail makes for the smoothest possible ride in quiet carriages. I find myself lamenting living in a country where the rail system was torn out and replaced by clogged interstates. There’s no grander way to travel than in a fine train.
The ship terminals in Dover are relics from the Victorian era, fine spans of decorative iron and pleasing brick walls with nice detailing. I often feel like I’m in a Jules Verne novel when in these fine old brick structures from the 19th century. Aspects of these terminal buildings remind me of the funky ones on the hill at the Royal Naval Observatory, with their cool clocks, telescopes, and ornamentation.
As we sailed past the White Cliffs of Dover I thought of all the British and American soldiers leaving those cliffs for the perilous channel crossing during the Second World War. I wonder how many tears of gratitude soaked into those white chalks from young soldiers able to come home. For those never returning, their families no doubt did their weeping and grief work in a thousand small hamlets and villages across the land. I think there’s merit in contemplating the challenges certain iconic locations represent. The English Channel was certainly one of the prominent strategic theaters of operation in that tragic episode in humanity’s incivility.
As I write this, we have traversed the English Channel and are now headed into the North Sea. The waters have been calm for six hours and there’s now the barest hint of swell at present; more a pleasant sensibility promoting good sleep at sea. Intense aerobic exercise on an upper deck was followed by a grand four-course dinner at sunset, served on about twenty plates and bowls of Rosenthal china. I’m feeling rather well kept again.
I’ve met a dozen people already in a few hours and even have a promise of a lift to a fine castle upon our return to Dover. This is a very large well conserved castle in an imposing setting on a promontory. I’ve seen it from two miles out to sea several times in the past but never was able to visit. It’s a fine carrot to look forward to, as if I need motivational carrots besides glaciers and fjords in one of the most beautiful regions on earth.
There are a hundred things I could easily write down in my gratitude list for this day. Gratitude is described as the Queen of Emotions. I’m again feeling rather royal.
The Hansiatic Realm 5-20-12
Near Bergen, Norway
The best I can guess is I’m about 1,650 miles north of my hometown, about dead even with the southern boundaries of Canada’s Northwest Territories, almost 5,000 miles east, and perhaps 600 miles west of St Petersburg, Russia. There’s something delicious about visiting realms new to me for the first time. At 4 AM I sit here in an amazing library on board a grand old European ship, waiting for the first speck of light to ignite over the legendary fjords of Norway’s west coast, a delicious anticipation of something I’ve long wanted to experience. There’s not a soul to be seen, curious since there are 1,370 passengers and 650 crew members within very short distance.
Daylight was still present at 10:30 PM last night, despite summer solstice being five weeks away. Despite our proximity to midsummer the high temperature yesterday was about 40 degrees; quite a contrast to the ninety degrees, humidity, and insects found in South Carolina, where winter did not occur this year.
The North Sea is a mercurial, nearly anthropomorphic reality, fussy and irritable at times. Alas, we’ve experienced this irritability for about eighteen hours and a good part of the ship’s complement is hunkered down, thinking of the merits of solid ground. I did my own share of meditation as well on the virtues of having a firm footing in one’s life. In perhaps two hours I can anticipate glass-like waters enclosed in fine canyons of geologic wonder. The stillness shall be shimmering to my agitated inner ears.
Having just been outside I see clear skies overhead and a rising moon to the east with the sun not far behind, I can only hope the thin band of cloud on the far horizon is not shrouding our views of paradise.
The best I can guess is I’m about 1,650 miles north of my hometown, about dead even with the southern boundaries of Canada’s Northwest Territories, almost 5,000 miles east, and perhaps 600 miles west of St Petersburg, Russia. There’s something delicious about visiting realms new to me for the first time. At 4 AM I sit here in an amazing library on board a grand old European ship, waiting for the first speck of light to ignite over the legendary fjords of Norway’s west coast, a delicious anticipation of something I’ve long wanted to experience. There’s not a soul to be seen, curious since there are 1,370 passengers and 650 crew members within very short distance.
Daylight was still present at 10:30 PM last night, despite summer solstice being five weeks away. Despite our proximity to midsummer the high temperature yesterday was about 40 degrees; quite a contrast to the ninety degrees, humidity, and insects found in South Carolina, where winter did not occur this year.
The North Sea is a mercurial, nearly anthropomorphic reality, fussy and irritable at times. Alas, we’ve experienced this irritability for about eighteen hours and a good part of the ship’s complement is hunkered down, thinking of the merits of solid ground. I did my own share of meditation as well on the virtues of having a firm footing in one’s life. In perhaps two hours I can anticipate glass-like waters enclosed in fine canyons of geologic wonder. The stillness shall be shimmering to my agitated inner ears.
Having just been outside I see clear skies overhead and a rising moon to the east with the sun not far behind, I can only hope the thin band of cloud on the far horizon is not shrouding our views of paradise.
Forms of Solitude 5-19-12
Aselund, Norway
Nights this far north are so very short this time of year. In a few weeks it will be non-existent. We seem to gain about fifteen minutes each day against the darkness. It’s nearly 11 PM and still quite blue and will be so again by 3 AM. Two years ago when I was due east of here in Russia I had the disorienting experience of night’s absence. I’m told continuous daylight is harder to deal with than continuous darkness.
I arose early and ventured out into the sublime city of Aselund. This rather handsome city is architecturally coherent and solid like few I’ve ever seen. In 1904 the all-wood city burned down in a firestorm leaving more than ten thousand homeless. To avoid a replay, the city was entirely rebuilt in stone following the then popular Art Nouveau style raging in Germany. The result today is an imminently pleasing cityscape in astoundingly fine repair. This region was spared the convulsions of the great 20th century wars which destroyed so much of the grand architecture in continental Europe.
As astounding as the condition of the city is, even more impressive was my having the city entirely to myself. The only person I saw as I made my rounds with a bagful of cameras was the security man on the docks. A photographer’s dream is having a pristine city to roam about in with no traffic to consider, no waiting for people to ‘clear’ a scene. Shop lights in dim blue early daylight give grand montages. Spring has just begun so blooms provide colorful highlights in an often monochrome landscape of snow and ice.
Several painters and photographers have gained great prominence from their focus on ‘evacuated’ environments, capturing a sense of people having just left a scene or about to arrive. My experiences with Aselund at first light remind me strongly of their interesting work. A grand aspect of this kind of work is being able to use a tripod in low light to capture magical scenes. It seems so very appropriate to do this kind of photography; given this northern journey is part of my experience of intentional creative absence.
Curiously, a faux pas has added to this experiment in isolation and absence. Week before last I left my eye glasses in the Bank of England in London and have not been able to see across rooms to look for people I have recently met. This has produced a strange sort of visual isolation. I had no idea I was so dependent on distance vision to orient myself to inhabited environments, seeking out familiar faces. Fortunately, I’ve had no problem with seeing the physical environment as I almost always have an ultra-wide angle or telephoto lens in my face. I’m hoping next week to go back to the Bank and see if my glasses turned up in the lost and found. A place keeping million dollar bricks of gold bullion should be able to keep my $15 glasses safe a couple weeks!
Adding further to my experiment in isolation has been the inability to clip onto decent broadband signals to upload notes or photos to anyone since leaving Canterbury. I’m getting more than ready for some aspects of this creative absence to come to a close. I miss my phone!
Nights this far north are so very short this time of year. In a few weeks it will be non-existent. We seem to gain about fifteen minutes each day against the darkness. It’s nearly 11 PM and still quite blue and will be so again by 3 AM. Two years ago when I was due east of here in Russia I had the disorienting experience of night’s absence. I’m told continuous daylight is harder to deal with than continuous darkness.
I arose early and ventured out into the sublime city of Aselund. This rather handsome city is architecturally coherent and solid like few I’ve ever seen. In 1904 the all-wood city burned down in a firestorm leaving more than ten thousand homeless. To avoid a replay, the city was entirely rebuilt in stone following the then popular Art Nouveau style raging in Germany. The result today is an imminently pleasing cityscape in astoundingly fine repair. This region was spared the convulsions of the great 20th century wars which destroyed so much of the grand architecture in continental Europe.
As astounding as the condition of the city is, even more impressive was my having the city entirely to myself. The only person I saw as I made my rounds with a bagful of cameras was the security man on the docks. A photographer’s dream is having a pristine city to roam about in with no traffic to consider, no waiting for people to ‘clear’ a scene. Shop lights in dim blue early daylight give grand montages. Spring has just begun so blooms provide colorful highlights in an often monochrome landscape of snow and ice.
Several painters and photographers have gained great prominence from their focus on ‘evacuated’ environments, capturing a sense of people having just left a scene or about to arrive. My experiences with Aselund at first light remind me strongly of their interesting work. A grand aspect of this kind of work is being able to use a tripod in low light to capture magical scenes. It seems so very appropriate to do this kind of photography; given this northern journey is part of my experience of intentional creative absence.
Curiously, a faux pas has added to this experiment in isolation and absence. Week before last I left my eye glasses in the Bank of England in London and have not been able to see across rooms to look for people I have recently met. This has produced a strange sort of visual isolation. I had no idea I was so dependent on distance vision to orient myself to inhabited environments, seeking out familiar faces. Fortunately, I’ve had no problem with seeing the physical environment as I almost always have an ultra-wide angle or telephoto lens in my face. I’m hoping next week to go back to the Bank and see if my glasses turned up in the lost and found. A place keeping million dollar bricks of gold bullion should be able to keep my $15 glasses safe a couple weeks!
Adding further to my experiment in isolation has been the inability to clip onto decent broadband signals to upload notes or photos to anyone since leaving Canterbury. I’m getting more than ready for some aspects of this creative absence to come to a close. I miss my phone!
Canterbury Tales 5-13-12
Canterbury, England
I’m sitting here in the Canterbury Cathedral library answering letters, posting photos, sending out things, and decided a note I just wrote to a dear friend was worth posting here without photo links.
I’ve just spent the night in a rather Numinous sort of place – Canterbury Cathedral. The Cathedral Close contains a grand accommodation with meeting rooms, a splendid library, and fine dining room. It proves a rather excellent place to be. Yesterday was given to making about five hundred images of the cathedral, inside and out. It is a bit heady collecting fourteen hundred years of history in little more than six hours. It is surreal that this collective creative work of more than a millennium survived the bombings of the second war. I find myself grateful for those specks of peace that mankind allows itself.
The appearance of the Cathedral at midnight is almost beyond words, perhaps it really is. During the day it has a million tourists in it. At night when the precinct is closed to the public one can wander around in solitude, a rarified experience to say the least. One can get very still and know God. It’s so rare to be in such a world-class treasure at night. So often one is limited to the usual 9-5 tourist arrangements. Sunset and sunrise in such a world class heritage site is surreal. I’m thinking a week back here later in the year might be a really grand plan. Alas, I’m off to Norway today. Someone has to go take pictures of the fjords during a sublime emergence from winter. Life is immensely generous at present.
It’s a mixed thing. I wish I had more time to write more letters, do more photo indexing, and share with you in real time. Alas, I am spending my time out and about ‘collecting’ images, figuring I can’t do this time shifted from home. I’ve already indexed 1,400 images. I figure to come home with somewhere around 8-10 thousand images. Don’t worry I won’t upload them to your computer.
We are having another spring here. Daffodils, tulips, and primrose are in full regalia. The great joy of distance travel to higher latitudes is the re-experience of spring – like getting Chesterton’s second fleck of paradise on the shore. .Life is colorful, the sky is clear and the temperature perfect. Dinner last night was sublime. An Indian Tandoori a bucolic short walk from the Cathedral Close offered a prawn korma, sang paneer, tandoori chicken, nan, mango lassi, and salad. The attention to detail was surreal – Egyptian fine count linen, pre-heated plates, cast table food warmers, hot towelettes following the meal, attentive service, dinner mints.
After dinner walking about the town of Canterbury at late sunset was a delight. Happy theater goers were just letting out and the pedestrian precinct was luminous. This will be a bit on the short side – I’m soon headed to the train which will take me to the docks. Getting to the train station involved walking about a mile along the top of a 2,000 year old Roman wall.
May you find life large today. Everyone deserves to experience this level of richness. Gratitude comes very easy today.
I’m sitting here in the Canterbury Cathedral library answering letters, posting photos, sending out things, and decided a note I just wrote to a dear friend was worth posting here without photo links.
I’ve just spent the night in a rather Numinous sort of place – Canterbury Cathedral. The Cathedral Close contains a grand accommodation with meeting rooms, a splendid library, and fine dining room. It proves a rather excellent place to be. Yesterday was given to making about five hundred images of the cathedral, inside and out. It is a bit heady collecting fourteen hundred years of history in little more than six hours. It is surreal that this collective creative work of more than a millennium survived the bombings of the second war. I find myself grateful for those specks of peace that mankind allows itself.
The appearance of the Cathedral at midnight is almost beyond words, perhaps it really is. During the day it has a million tourists in it. At night when the precinct is closed to the public one can wander around in solitude, a rarified experience to say the least. One can get very still and know God. It’s so rare to be in such a world-class treasure at night. So often one is limited to the usual 9-5 tourist arrangements. Sunset and sunrise in such a world class heritage site is surreal. I’m thinking a week back here later in the year might be a really grand plan. Alas, I’m off to Norway today. Someone has to go take pictures of the fjords during a sublime emergence from winter. Life is immensely generous at present.
It’s a mixed thing. I wish I had more time to write more letters, do more photo indexing, and share with you in real time. Alas, I am spending my time out and about ‘collecting’ images, figuring I can’t do this time shifted from home. I’ve already indexed 1,400 images. I figure to come home with somewhere around 8-10 thousand images. Don’t worry I won’t upload them to your computer.
We are having another spring here. Daffodils, tulips, and primrose are in full regalia. The great joy of distance travel to higher latitudes is the re-experience of spring – like getting Chesterton’s second fleck of paradise on the shore. .Life is colorful, the sky is clear and the temperature perfect. Dinner last night was sublime. An Indian Tandoori a bucolic short walk from the Cathedral Close offered a prawn korma, sang paneer, tandoori chicken, nan, mango lassi, and salad. The attention to detail was surreal – Egyptian fine count linen, pre-heated plates, cast table food warmers, hot towelettes following the meal, attentive service, dinner mints.
After dinner walking about the town of Canterbury at late sunset was a delight. Happy theater goers were just letting out and the pedestrian precinct was luminous. This will be a bit on the short side – I’m soon headed to the train which will take me to the docks. Getting to the train station involved walking about a mile along the top of a 2,000 year old Roman wall.
May you find life large today. Everyone deserves to experience this level of richness. Gratitude comes very easy today.
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