I walked yesterday through the West End of Portland, as a wild wind blew. It was a strangely warm day for early October and a full spectrum of red, crimson, and yellow leaves were spinning in circles. Pumpkins lay on doorsteps and there was this kind of funny, wild energy to the air.
Spring is an extraordinary season to be in New England. Blossoms are dropping off trees. The roads are covered in dazzling red and pink. Petals in all directions.
The sun has come out and warmed all of us, and life has leapt into this dizzying action. Nature launches it's immense season of fertility — and it affects us all. We go crazy busy.
My most recent new development is that I have started to work with an array of New England poets, painters and visionaries. Some very artistic karma is ripening and it's occurring as naturally as the buds coming to the trees.
Something curious happened to me on my recent trip to Xi'An.
I had arranged to go this ancient city to meet with the heads of the Xi'An Academy of Fine Art. I was on a trip to help establish a partnership with Maine College of Art (MECA). I was also meeting Karen Smith, a legendary writer and art critic in Beijing who is the director of a new museum here in Xi'An. She helped to connect me to the art school and met me at the airport where we jumped into the academy's car.
Today's blog is dedicated to my Mum, Jenny Tyrrell I have been thinking of her a lot lately. She's been going through some difficult times and my mind has been moving to the rocky walls of her French farmhouse. I wish I could teleport myself to her kitchen for a cup of tea.
It has been dawning on me lately, how blessed I was to be born to this woman. In Buddhist teachings, we hear of karma. We hear how we planted seeds of actions way back across many past lives and how these now ripen as experiences, as appearances, as the content of our lives. To have appeared in Jenny Tyrrell's life, I had extraordinary karma ripening.
A carpet was the topic of an inspired conversation this week. It lies on my living room floor (above) and sometimes visitors will pause and stare into the thing.
It is a curious creation that emits a strange power. This carpet, or Gabbeh to be more precise, is of an indeterminate age and originally harks from an Iranian village. I know this because I found a little piece of material sewn onto the back of the thing.
The carpet found me ten years ago. It materialized one rainy afternoon with a boyfriend who, soon after meeting me, decided to move back to the States. He proceeded to offload most of his possessions into my apartment Soho, Hong Kong - and this delightful item was amid the second elevator-load.
Where I contemplate my meditation practice and how it aligns with daily life. Sometimes these take the form of poems.