Each day I rise and make a plan, for the day. I thought of Thoreau when I woke. one must be awake to the day...to the dawn. Today, I reviewed a manuscript...Lao Tse says, "Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished." It took the whole day. But now I can see what I did in 1986-87 and perhaps what can be retrieved, and possibly published. Five poems in that MSS were published. I worked on a chapter about my fulbright fellowship in Samarkand and Tashkent, Uzbekistan. I had written a draft of about 4000 words since I have been here and today, I worked on "rewriting" and copy editing" that draft...to create a draft, which is my goal...which can be presented as a manuscript. I did not finish...but perhaps tonight. I teased out meanings and inserted omissions, and wrote real sentences where I had made sketches. That is as far as I got with my writing. I made a tabouli salad. I took a walk (it's one mile RT) and I walk down the mountain(we are at 1170 ft) and up again, twice a day, so at least it is two miles...and I like the beginning and end of the morning and afternoon, in that way...I fed my song birds and rabbits and now two squirrels; what pleasure these little songbirds bring...and how privileged I feel to be able to feed them for the period of time I live here.

Look deep into Nature and you will understand...

An incredible visitation. Albert Einstein says, "Look deep into nature, and they you will understand everything better. Albert Einstein. I had a blessed morning...that somehow gave me hope. I sat on my porch, reading a photographic essay of the last summer of Anne Sexton, a poet at Radcliffe that I had hoped to study with, the autumn she committed suicide. She had written to me, even giving me one of her "daisy" drawings...in the letter. She says that when she writes, "the blood flows on to the page." Well, while I was doing that honoring of a woman, over whom I grieved, like my own mother...what should appear to my eyes in front of me, immediately, were three bucks emerging on the mesa immediately in front of me. A yearling followed shortly after...I just watched, as they saw me, looked at me...continued on, caught another scent as they were passing the road...turned around and round again and continued...so majestic. What a gift, "from the sea' as Anne Morrow Lindbergh would say about the shells on a beach, but here on the mountain, such a sight is a "present"...Annie Dillard always grapsed this...if we look up, and see, as I saw some minutes later, a hummingbird hovering in the air, about a foot away from me...and they the emerald hummingbird turned and sipped the nectar from the plant on the table, and then in an instant, was gone. What a pleasure! What a gem, caught on the wing. I returned to my book. Suddenly, I looked up as a hawk swooped down and perched with his large claws on the railing of the porch about three feet from me; I don't know who was more startled this beautiful hawk, with plummage of gold and white and smoky brown...or me! It recovered and soared into the air, joining another hawk, and the pair circled, and glided, as hawks do, in great arcs and circles for nearly five minutes, with the sunlight flashing off the body of the hawk...making it "incandescent". The previous afternoon, had also been shocked by a hawk, as I was reading in the gazebo, and suddenly the swoosh of his wings came to my ears, as my eyes saw him sweep down and lift up a quail in its claws and soar away with his prey. The covey of quail flew straight up and away! It was incredible to witness this act. Now, the Hawk is on y porch! He must have heard the songbirds find breakfast here each day...but what a presence. I read some poetry about hawks, but as JD McClatchy said of the selection of poems about birds; most say more about the poets who wrote them, than about the hawks... I am writing this while I am listening to President Obama debate Governor Romney. Bertrand Russell is certainly of another generation, but aren't we all. He says, "I've made an odd discovery. Every time I talk to a savant I feel quite sure that happiness is no longer a possibility. Yet when I talk with my gardener, I'm convinced of the opposite".

open studio Dragonfly Festival

More than 35 people signed the book, and about 50 people were curious about who a writer is, what the Katrina cottage looks like. These cottages are those which were used in New Orleans, after the crisis there. I was encouraged to see two Chinese residents visit; one was from Malaysia and had met someone who was an expert in dragonflies, and the other was married locally, and she told the group gathered together that it is different in China. The individual is only important as he contributes to the whole; what matters is harmony and others, not the individual. She made hand gestures: America and China are "inside out" different, but they also share values, and as a China born Chinese American, she says she loves her life here. I met a talented artist and provide her website to introduce her. We hope to travel to Laguna Beach to her gallery and for me to visit her studio while I am here. She had just returned from Canada. I wrote an essay for the Dragon festival.

Each morning's meditation and communication

Each morning, after the zen raking, the yoga, the walk down the drive, the sweeping out of the cottage, the watering of the plants, and the feeding of the wild birds and squirrels, the drinking of tea, I sit down and write in my journal as to how many hot air balloons are rising, if I had any unusual animal or bird visitations, as this morning, with the deer outside my door! -- I read in an anthology, an essay by a woman living in the West or South West of Ameria, as this is very different territory for me. The editors say the following: ….”out there”, objectively, but in a deeply personal intimate, and self revealing way, “in here”, as forms of the interior life discovered in the wild wonderful world of landforms and life forms…witnessing both the ever –changing, ever – mysterious life of the natural world and the vivid, creative, evolving life of the writer herself…writing that testifies in some significant way to the topography of place and of spirit, that explores the congruence of where we are and who we are….writing that celebrates womens’ bodies, senses, memories, identities, and spiritual selves within the context of place: plains and mountains, deserts and canyons, farm fields and forests, empty wilderness and the wildness of urban nature…’ writing that suggested how imagination and spirit intersect with the experience of nature in transforming and redeeming ways, and what potential these experiences and transformations might hold for us.” Writer revealed essential parts of herself describing the transformation brought about by her experience in the natural world.” …not just nature writing.”…voices of hundreds of women, singing their lives, singing their songs, singing the land.” …to experience the land in the same way that we experience our bodies, our minds, our spirits.” We can have a profound connection with the earth and that our engagement can change our lives. We can still find ourselves at home in the world. “ Susan Wittig Albert This makes a lot of sense to me and describes my situationOne of the writer articulates my situation exactly, as well: “ I wanted silence. My daydreams were full of places I longed to be, shelters and solitudes. I wanted a room apart from others, a hidden cabin to rest in. I wanted to be in a redwood forest with trees so tall the owls were out in the daytime...“And how often have I wanted to escape to a wilderness where a human hand has not been in everything. But those were only dreams of peace, of comfort, of a nest inside a stone or wood, a sanctuary where a dream or life couldn’t be invaded.” P. 8 But of course, the life is invaded. This is a 300 acre conservancy and what happens; men drive across a narrow strip to get to a shooting range and all day long,today, though not every day, -- for the most part, I hear guns...and after my years in Central Asia, the Caucasus and in Russia, guns mean "war". Can't men think of something better to do than go out and shoot a gun, to say, "I am"...and if they are so in love with it, why not enroll in the army or become a policeman? Find a social value for their "outlet". When the shooting is unceasing, I feel I am in a war zone especially if I am recalling Kosovo or Macedonia or almost any of the countries I lived in which were small countries where violence was felt on an intimate day to day basis. It is ironic that a place that is supposed to be for tranquillity and for repose for creative activity is molested by gun holders. They have no respect; the response is"who are we hurting?" We are not breaking any law..." so what happened to "disturbing the peace" or being a "nuisance" or the noise element; if it were teenagers playing music too loud, the police would be called and they would have to stop it. It was horrid, today; I thought each shot was for me, by the end of the day, it had become so personalized and internalized. The only way I survive it is to stay detached, but if I am writing, I become vulnerable. Anyway, the book is really useful and I am hearing from women who would be friends...and they are giving me another view of life than my friends in Manhattan and Philadelphia, Washington DC and Connecticut, along with Baltimore. I look forward to the next entry each morning. In that way the book is a friend and true companion.

Scrub Jay and Cottontail Rabbit Two daily visitors!

Cottage 2 Horton at Dorland Mt Arts Colony a Katrina Cottage

Saturdays

This, being my third Saturday at Dorland, promptly at 8:15 AM, we drove into Temecula to the farmer's market.  The watercolorist, responsible for taking me, meets her colleagues, Elementary School teachers at Starbucks, and I shop for an hour.  Today, there was a quilt exhibition in town, and many of the shops had quilts hanging for viewing(not for sale). I enjoyed this unique American fabric art. Janice pointed out the Greek Festival near the city hall,all recreated traditional architecture.  On the return, we drove past horse paddocks, and I was happy to consider, that if I were to live here, I would want to tune into the horse territory  Today, the fund which rehabilitates horses was having an Open House.   A vineyard was having a fund raiser for diabetes in cats and dogs, ---that which my own cat had died of, in China.  I was sympathetic to their cause. There is little I can do without a car.   I listened instead to John Williams conducting his own music at the Hollywood Bowl; he has done so many shows for and with Stephen Spielberg.  It was good to hear live music.  I curled up with the New Yorker, October 8, which I received today, and read it straight through...took my afternoon walk, and will settle down to write this evening.
 

Each day beginning life anew ! wabi sabi yoga

An emerald hummingbird gathered  red nectar, instantaneously, from a new blooming plant...three feet from me early this morning.  Each day, I rise at dawn, seeing the peach light turn pink , the "rosy fingers of dawn", turn golden, while the hot air ballons rise.  Each day I count these orbs a typical day there are three rising in the valley to the foothills and mountains where we reside. The most has been 14 last Saturday.   I zen rake each morning, usually after my walk down the mountain driveway to the gate, and back...yesterday, a mule deer was standing on the peak of one of the hillocks, until he saw a golden ball of light, which caused him to evaporate.   I rake out the footprints, mostly mine, of the previous day and of the morning...each evening, I drag the hose full around the house, to offer what is living, and green, water.  Rosemary bushes line one side of the house, the head corner spaced with a alabaster brittle bush which has taken root, and a ground red geranium.  Then, I make a pot of green tea, settle into a chair, having spread wild birdseed in the back yard, and await the pair of rabbits, another pair of scrub jays and the other assorted song birds and a variety of "well dressed" sparrows, arrival.  One has a red breast and red "cap", and another a striated breast and black and white cap. I hand write in a journal of the house, which in another entry notes that Athol Fugard's daughter spent a residency here; she remarks that she found one of the characters in her fiction in her residency and enjoyed the pair of owls, which still talk to each other each morning, inquiring:  who -o-o-o-?  I hear them each night or early morning.

Having gone to the knoll before returning to the cottage and settling in, and then in returning to my desk to work -- I do my yoga poses, "facing the sun", "tree" pose, "warrior" poses, and a couple of others that require dance like positions, with one hand and leg suspended...this begins the day.  I have always loved "the praise the sun" pose, as well as the tree pose. Both require balance and let me know how "stable" my feet are upon the ground and if my spirit is light or burdened.  I now have a yoga mat so I continue the poses when I first enter the door, the pushups, and all the floor poses, including the shoulder stand, to the end.  I feel remarkably better, when I persist in this workout, and await my DVD to get more support in my practice...

"Wabi Sabi" describes the life here, which I had dreamed of. I am reading ten selections each afternoon, for 30 minutes in the gazebo, from HAIKU MIND:  108 Poems to Cultivate Awareness, which I downloaded on Kindle.   Patricia Donegan taught at Naropa in Colorado and includes zen and nature poet, Gary Snyder, who lives in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, and has lived in Japan, travelled in India and China.   Japan and haiku are strong meditative influences in his writing.  The Academy of American Poets has just awarded him $25,000 for life time achievement.   She also has poems by Alan Ginsberg, Diana de Prima and other "Beat" poets, whom she met at Naropa.    She includes many Japanese writers of haiku and the past presidents of the Haiku Society in America and in other countries.  She is brief, like the haiku form itself, and each entry is no more than two pages, so it turns into a meditation, and I feel immeasurably refreshed after reading them. I had visited the potter who defined the "wabi sabi" way of life in my month in Kyoto in the zen gardens there. 

"Sabi"embodies a sense of solitude, and "wabi", a weathered or rustic feeling of a small hut (or cottage like mine) in the mountains.   Wabi Sabi began as a form of aesthetic in the tea ceremony in the 14th century in Japan.  The bonsai shares small size and elegant form to create a beauty of simplicity.  The concept internalizes that human beings need beauty or perhaps a flower as much as they need bread in their day.

 "Be careful of what you wish for; you may get it!" was my thought when Dorland invited me. Like Mrs. Dorland who created this place, to emulate colonies, she as a musican had attended in the East, I wanted to find a colony in California like the ones I had known in the East, in my earlier years, which had provided me nourishment.  I also sought silence, solitude, and a cabin high in the mountains, as a projection of what my spirit needed, after the past 7 years in China, following the loss of my beloved cat to diabetes, and the passage of my mother and father in a year's time, Mother in Februrary 2011 and Dad in December 2011, respectively.  I have found that bliss, as Noe Fugard terms it, here at Dorland...
       

Dorland Arts Colony Ellen Dorland, Founder 1931

I am grateful to be at Dorland, and anyone who visits this site needs to appreciate my patrons.  In the 1930's, the property called Dorland Mountain Arts Colony was homesteaded by Ellen and Robert Dorland.   Ellen Babcock Dorland was a world famous concert pianist in the early part of the 20th century and a gifted music teacher.  She dreamed of founding an artists colony like those she had attended on the East Coast.  Her friend Barbara Horton, a dedicatd environmentalist, shared her dream and was instrumental in founding the colony, through cultivating patrons and fund raising.   What beagan as a private retreat evolved into the only residential artists colony in Southern California.   It is an internationally recognized haven for artists, writers and composers. 

Curtis Horton, President of the Board of Directors presided over the event staged the day after my arrival.  His mother was the cohert of Ellen Dorland, in obtaining funds and patronage to put the dream into a concrete reality.  Curtis is an environmental law attorney, and a violinst in the Pasadena orchestra. He has a fond memory of his mother's interest in the arts, and wants to see Dorland recover its legacy, rise out of the ashes.    

Between 1974 and 1988, Dorland was under the stewardship of The Nature Conservancy, an international land preservation group, which wanted to protect Dorland's unique plants and wildlife.  It is also recognized as an Indian burial ground, considered sacred by local tribes.   In July 1988, the Nature Conservancy deeded the property back to the Colony's board of directions with the restirciton that the land be protected from development in perpetuity. 

In May 2004, a wildfire swept through Dorland, destroying ten buildings.  Fortunately the colony had evacuated.   Not long after the Board convened and unanimously voted to rebuild.  With only small donations, it now has two Katrina(from the hurricane disaster) cottages for resident artists.