Oh What a Night!

       

It wasn’t until we turned out the lights on our way to bed at 11:00 last night that I noticed the amazing light show going on across the bay. Relampago! (Lightning at night, as opposed to rayas -daytime lightning)

Even though we were tired we sat out on the porch overlooking the water, across to the Baja peninsula, the Sierra San Francisco and the amazing show that was happening. From a long dark cloud came flashes so frequent that it was as if someone had switched on a strobe light. Without exaggeration I would easily say that there were about 6-8 strikes per second and the longest amount of time between strikes was just under 1 second. The sky was ablaze in flashing lights – right, left, center, higher from the horizon, lower, it never let up. While few bolts were visible to the eye, it was spectacular, none the less. Add to it the phosphorescence in the breaking waves and the shooting stars from the Perseid Meteor Shower and needless to say, I was breath-taken. Only reluctantly did I go to bed. It fueled me in an interestingly energetic way. I fell asleep hearing some high vibrating sound that I could not place into any known category.

Around 1:30 a.m. I awoke to use the bathroom and as I passed the big picture window in the living room I saw that the storm had moved closer; the lightening was stronger and more frequent. In awe I awoke Robert to say that he might want to see this.

After watching from the comfort of the house something told me that the storm was coming here and that it would rain, but I dismissed it as there has been no cloud build up as of late and on a normal year our rainfall measures 3”. To add to that, we have been in a drought for some years now. I crawled back into bed with only a sheet to cover me. We always sleep with the door and windows wide open to both enjoy the fresh air and hear the ocean better.

Some 2 hours later I awoke to the sound of pounding rain on metal roof, which I admit amplifies the noise considerably. It was pouring!

Thought #1: I have to close the windows and door a.s.a.p.! I know it will flood inside if I’m not quick. Heaven knows how long it has been raining already!

Thought #2: My studio window is open and my beautiful handmade papers are right under the open window. This could be disastrous!

Thought #3: Oh thank heavens Robert sealed the new roof of the studio just the other day…..

Thought #4: Wow, this is really cool!

When it rains here, you can practically hear the Earth sing. It vibrates with a song that speaks of life and renewal. It is hard not to join in with her, humming your own grateful tune, as all is being quenched and cleaned.  It matters not how many puddles there might be to sweep up later.



My newly planted veggie garden

I know it rained for at least a couple of hours. It lulled me into a deep sleep and when we awoke later in the morning all the plants glowed green and vibrant. No more dust! The gray water system, which isn’t yet really up and going properly had collected an extra 11 gallons or so from just a small area of run off.  (Had it been completed, Robert says at that rate we could have amassed over 200 gallons!) The tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, basil, and all the ornamentals were practically singing they were so happy.

The neighborhood was up and moving, sweeping standing water from patios, fixing leaks, and generally feeling more lively than usual. Driving into town the distant buildings shone their true vibrant Mexican colors and could be seen from the top of the hill in La Beliza, some mile and a half away. I saw that the airstrip and the road leading in were both under about a foot of water.  Speaking to the cashier in the co-op it was clear that the beauty of the tormenta (storm) touched everyone. Even all the campers along the point seemed pretty amazed by the whole experience.

And now the humidity has risen considerably.  For a desert town, it feels very tropical. But the water has gotten warm and a swim is definitely in order for this afternoon, if not sooner.

Just when I think this place is magical, it does something that astounds me even more!

Mother Nature you rock!

Morning Magic

It’s the sheen of the mirror-flat silver water flecked with soft pinks from the rising sun. In the calm water the dolphins’ daily march is recorded easily as they break the smooth expanse with their sensuous movement. They circle through the crescent bay each morning in search of breakfast.

It’s the glowing orange orb that crests the mountains across the water and colors the clouds vibrant breathtaking hues of orange, coral and pink. And the pelicans that glide effortlessly through the still air proving to be the true Masters of Flight.

It’s the 2000 terns that gather each summer to camp on the beach, their calls more incessant than any rooster, yet less shrill and somehow calming. It becomes a constant background noise the entire length of their month long stay.

It’s how when they are disturbed they rise as one through the air filling the sky so densely with small white bodies that the horizon monetarily disappears. Watching them there comes a moment that they synchronize in flight, moving and becoming as one. A change of direction, signaled only God knows how, and the mass of white becomes one of dark gray, only to reverse to white once again with yet another turn. How do they do that?!

It’s the calm of the morning air, filled with promise for a new day, bright and fresh. Looking down at the extreme low tide, the water’s edge filled with fisher-persons and a fisher-dog, who eagerly patrols the tide pools and often as not catches baby halibut or crabs himself.

It’s knowing that I have another day to celebrate Life, to share it with my beloved partner and our friends. And I thank the Earth and Sky, the Universe and all the Beings therein for all that has been and all the will be, but mostly – all that Is.

My gratitude is beyond measure~

Pilot Whale

Helpless. We were totally helpless. Though we had great intentions, there was nothing we could do to lift the animal out of the receding tidal pool and back into deeper water. And even if the three of us could move the 1000 pound beast, Robert, who was closest to him, reported that he was gravely injured and certainly close to death….

The morning had begun as usual. I was off at sunrise on my walk with Rowdy and Miss Yeager when, not far from the house I spied something splashing in water. Thinking it was another curious sea lion, I stopped to watch. Suddenly I became aware that whatever it was was stranded and trying to escape the confines of the pool. Without investigating further, and thinking it was a dolphin, I ran home to wake Robert and see if maybe we could rescue the poor animal.

‘Is it large?’ he asked, and though I was pretty sure it was, I said I didn’t know. I was afraid that if I said yes, Robert would tell me it was hopeless and I really really wanted to try. So as he pelted me with questions – how far out? how big? where exactly? – I said 'Just come and look.' Robert donned his full wetsuit and I put on a bathing suit. Running next door to get our neighbor Bruce, I hoped that maybe 3 people could lift it. We gathered something for a makeshift sling and then we all met on the beach in short order. The tide was still going out and time was of the essence.

Wading out in the mid-50 degree water was bone chilling. I kept telling myself that I could do this, though I lagged behind, knee deep in the water as Robert approached the animal. At first he wasn’t sure exactly what it was, and when he mistakenly said it was a shark, I thought,’ Oh good I don’t have to get wet!’ but then I had to question myself. Why I would save one creature, but not another?

Bruce stood at the water’s edge as Robert sadly gave the news that it was a pilot whale and sure to die very shortly no matter what we did. He was close to tears as he reported that the surrounding water was filled with blood and he could see death in the big mammal’s eye. I waded no deeper and neither did Bruce.  We forlornly walked home wishing that it had been otherwise, but nature has her ways.

About an hour later, when the tide was at its lowest I walked out to the animal. Now in only ankle deep water I wanted to inspect him closely and hopefully offer some comfort, if he was still alive. Roughly 10 feet long and black in color, he was covered in blood. I saw that there was a huge gash across his head, as if he’d been struck by a propeller, along with numerous small cuts and lacerations. Several teeth were missing. So little movement led me to believe that he was very close to the end. 

I stood and thanked him aloud and told him how beautiful he was and that even now he was still an awesome creature to behold. Though I was sorry for his pain, I continued to tell him that I was deeply grateful for this opportunity to get so close to him and see his magnificence and how I was here to offer him some comfort and support in the only way I knew how.

I reached down and stroked his flank, and I noticed his eye turn to me and try to focus as if in gratitude. I gently stroked him some more and splashed water onto his parched and peeling skin. He responded by moving his tail back and forth. My apologies were offered for my inability to save him but I would stay in hopes of comforting him. I moved to his head and gently stroked his blow hole. Crouching down, my hand covered in blood I spoke softly to him and it seemed to calm him. As I caressed I was surprised to see him extend his sexual organ and ejaculate into the water, twice. I took it as a sign of pleasure however odd it might seem.

By this time others had begun to gather on the beach to see what was going on. My time with this beautiful creature was coming to an end and I said my goodbyes and wished him wondrous travels on his next adventure. Slowly I walked home deeply touched by the experience.

It was an honor to witness this death – though surely I would have liked to have been able to save him. But it was not to be so. He offered himself to me, so that I might know more of the sea and its inhabitants. He assisted me in facing death yet again. And as I cleaned the sand from my shoes on the patio, I was filled with an unbelievable knowing that this whale gave me a part of himself that will always be with me, no matter what.

And blessedly, I gave him a part of me, too.

Breaking at the Cracks

Tucked way up there inside, hidden deeply from view I was not conscious it was there. True I had heard, ‘Let go and allow it to heal you,’ and I had been forewarned that much emotion was stored away and would likely need to be released, but for some crazy reason I thought that they were telling me of Robert. I should know better by now; he is a reflection of my own inner self. So when the tears came, they were sudden and hot, coming from a buried space within that seemed to be cracking open and spilling out its content with little regard for the moment.

We were dancing in the living room to Colby Callet’s Breaking at the Cracks and the sobs bubbled up from some deep reservoir, rising to the surface as I imagine bubbles rising through hot tar.

I told myself all kinds of reasons not to cry- how I’d scare Robert, how I had to hold it together. In the end he just held me tightly and told me to let it out. In truth I wish I hadn’t contained them at all. I wish I had fully allowed them access to the deepest parts of me for all the moments that I have had to be strong over these last 9 months, for all the fears of the unknown, and all the times I looked at my beloved and felt shock at seeing someone I had never known, someone much older than his 57 years and much weaker than his inherently strong muscular body. I felt a ripple of fear at the awareness of having him brush so close to death and my being left what felt alone.

I wish I had sobbed until there were no more tears, for though I allowed a definite expression I reigned myself in half way through. I guess it was just too painful, too much for me to fully touch as yet. But truthfully that’s just an excuse. It’s time. In each moment, as it happens, it’s time. As the emotions arise – that’s the time to fully embrace life as we are creating it. Stuffing things down, putting them aside until later – if ever- is unhealthy. I know this, and yet old patterns surfaced again. And here in Baja in my cozy casita I am supported by such beauty, such freedom. It is Nature at her most tender and sacred.

Each time I come here I am surrounded by energies that teach me and leave me in awe for what they impart. There has always been a rawness here that has drawn me and, at times, even felt a little scary too. But this trip down I immediately noticed that it felt different, just quiet. No urgent need to walk the beach or search for shells. No buzzing tension of lessons about to be imparted. Just a quiet tenderness that has enveloped me and allowed me to move as I have felt right for me.

At first I wondered have I lost it? Yet now I understand the wisdom of the Universe and how It is gently cupping me in Its embrace, tenderly caressing me to release all the stored emotions. The past 9 months in San Diego were necessary– for both Robert and me- not just for his cancer treatment, but for so much else that I had to return to face and let go of. It was monumental and I still am grateful beyond words that all transpired as it has. I have learned so much….

And now that we are here in Punta Abreojos, the sun is shining, things are being unpacked daily, and I have reentered my precious studio space and begun to paint once again I can feel the Life coursing through my days again. It is exceptional and I am so very very grateful for it all. Just writing, putting thoughts onto paper assists me to bring it up and let it out. Ahhhhh~

Oh listen! I hear my canvas calling! Time to have some breakfast and get going!

xxxooo

Update and Overview

Goodness but it has been a long visit to San Diego! We left Baja on Oct 6, 2011, and now, in a couple of weeks, we’re finally headed back. I could say, ‘What a long strange trip it’s been,’ and in a sense that would be true, yet it wouldn’t even begin to encompass the whole of it….. Many lessons have been clarifying themselves now that the cancer treatment has ended. Robert is doing so well and life is truly beginning again.

Just a couple of days ago Robert was interviewed for a book about people who have been through trauma. As I sat in the room and just listened, the depths of the questions astounded me, as did his answers. Beautiful thought provoking questions like “How did this journey affect your body, mind, emotions and spiritual perspective?” and “What did you let go of, accept or change?” I found myself silently answering the questions.  That’s when I began to realize how much I have gained through it all.

Our neighbor Charlie who has had a myriad of such journeys once said to me that he highly recommends to anyone that they go through a near death experience – provided they can do so without dying. (He has been a profound teacher and support through these last 8 months, not to mention that he keeps my spirits up.) You can’t travel this path without making significant changes – at least not from what I have experienced. As the primary care giver, I found that one of my most significant lessons was to face the fear. I was continuously reminding myself to turn around and walk right into it. That way I wouldn’t be hiding. And if it was going to bite me, it wasn’t going to be in the butt; I was going to see it. That didn’t mean I wasn’t scared, or lonely, or overwhelmed. No, at times I was all this and more, but it sure helped me to see more clearly and it allowed me to ask for help. Lesson #2.

Letting go of the idea that asking for help shows vulnerability, and instead embracing that vulnerability allowed me to continue putting one foot in front of the other and finish the walk. I wasn’t brave, but I did have courage. Courage, from the Latin co (meaning heart) was first defined in the English language as, ‘to tell the story of who you are with your whole heart’. I like that definition. The response was tremendous. Love poured in from avenues I didn’t even know existed.

Brene Brown gave a TED talk The Power of Vulnerablility in which she said that the world’s happiest people have the courage to be imperfect, that they embrace their vulnerability, and ‘what makes you vulnerable makes you beautiful’. The willingness to be open and heart-full is a great strength – exactly the opposite that you might think. There is suppleness to it, a flow; it is magnificent. And it opens up to gratitude. (But that’s another blog altogether!)

Our house - Punta Abreojos, BCS

I know more insights will show up. I look forward to each one. For now I revel in how we have grown, what I am still learning and what is yet to come.

We hope to be leaving for home in the next couple of weeks, as soon as some paperwork clears. I want to thank everyone once again for all your prayers, good wishes and all the life-giving support that you have offered! I promise to let you know what Baja has in store for us as soon as we get there.

With deep love and appreciation~

Is It Art?

Last month on 60 Minutes Morley Safer did a piece on contemporary art and how it has consistently outperformed stocks since 2003 thus becoming a billion dollar industry. He attended the largest most profitable show in the US Art Basel Miami Beach and reported on its seeming absurdities, idiosyncrasies, extremes and more.  Many of the art pieces, admittedly controversial, fetched millions of dollars and could even have been labeled ‘shock art’. As he roamed the show he continually questioned, ‘Yes, but is it art?’

It was a good piece of journalism, memorable and thought provoking, eliciting strong emotions. Isn’t that what reporters strive for – a piece that you can’t stop thinking about? What if you take those parameters and apply them to the art itself? What makes it ‘good’ art? It comes down to this- what are you willing to feel? It’s not just about feeling good – it’s about feeling.

The purpose of art is to evoke emotion. These pieces were the expressions of artists who use visual clues instead of words.  Some artists use sound (music), or movement (dance) to express and elicit responses, all valid forms of communication. The question is are you listening?

We have become an unfeeling society – encasing ourselves in so many layers of protection that often we cannot be touched, as if this makes us safer or invincible. Shock art attempts to rip away the layers and expose us to deeper spaces within, thus assisting us to feel. Regardless of what emotion it evokes, it has elicited a response – something we frequently numb ourselves to. It offers itself as a vehicle to feel, to express, to let it out.

How often do we run away when a feeling arises within our bodies that we think signals ‘something is wrong’? We assume it will lead to a problem and heaven forbid I don’t want that! So we shut it down, push it away and file it in the ‘no more’ category instead of opening to it with wonder, listening to what this energy has to tell us? What if instead we appreciated ourselves for communicating and thanked ourselves with love and reverence and then just listened? Imagine the magic that might ensue if we actually allowed it.

Shock art, contemporary art, abstract art and modern art, all these are voices of the artists who have chosen to search a little deeper than the norm. Regardless of whether the piece is one that you would hang in your living room, can you open yourself up to perhaps hear what is trying to be communicated? Are you willing to go that far?

You might hate it. You might love it. You might fall somewhere in between, but allow yourself, if you will, to imagine the challenge of expressing a verb, an adjective or an emotion visually. Not as easy as a noun. The challenges involved in doing so entice certain artists – like the climber to Mt Everest.

So the next time you see art that shocks you, I invite you to stop and listen for a moment. Think of what the artist might be trying to communicate. It could surprise you. And I assure you, you can only grow by opening.

To see the 60 Minute Segment: 60 Minutes

Dancing With Nature

Sunrise 2, Baja Landscapes, artist & copyright Jill Mollenhauer

‘What is it about Baja that makes you want to go back?’ The question was posed to me last night at a lovely dinner party hosted by dear friends. Immediately I knew the answer, for just that day I had become aware of what is missing here.

Don’t get me wrong, I am eternally grateful for this stopping point, a place to heal from all that has been ongoing in our lives as of late. My partner’s cancer treatment has required us to be here and this rental house has been a God-send for its proximity to not only the doctors but also our storage garage. And because it is on the same block as the house we own and currently rent to someone else, our core support group and neighbors are with us. What a blessing! Nothing could make it easier than to just walk the 3 blocks to Trader Joes or Ralphs, Starbucks or even the hardware store. Such ease! This neighborhood hosts more restaurants than one could ever choose from in a lifetime along with other numerous outlets for enjoyment. I guess my friend simply could not fathom why I want to return to our beach house in Baja where we make our own electricity, truck in our water and at this point a hot shower involves heating the water on the stove first.

When the sun rises in Baja, it creeps up over the peninsula and crests the distant San Francisco Mountains to shine across the bay and into our front window. The crashing waves sing of its ascent into the color-filled sky. Birds begin their daily flight paths along the shoreline in search of breakfast. Nature simply calls to me to come and experience Her in Her morning glory. Even before tea I often put on my shoes and take a brisk walk to the point with Rowdy, our neighbor’s dog, because it is just too stunning to miss.

There are times that the moon and the sun are simultaneously coming and going – east sports vivid orange and yellows, while west is soft purple and gold. I tilt my head back and scan the entire sky wishing I could paint it all on one canvas or at least take a picture, but it’s so vast! I have no extra extra wide angle lens and I am left speechless in awe.



Baja Landscapes #4, artist & copyright Jill Mollenhauer

Other times if it’s a low tide, we’ll cycle along the 3 miles of uninterrupted beach, stopping only to pick up shells or watch the dolphins as they play in the surf beside us. On those days we ride with Rowdy and the dolphins. Yes, they swim parallel with us as we ride. It’s heaven to return home tired and exhilarated for breakfast and coffee.



As the day warms and after chores are completed, I walk over to my studio where I always have at least one project going. Rowdy usually accompanies me to lie on the cool floor while I paint and Ms. Yeager, the cat, often sprawls across my work table to snooze or occasionally swat at my brush. I can survey the neighborhood from my perch upstairs above Ed’s house. It is open to the water and sometimes I find myself just gazing out watching. I work until hunger or some other diversion calls me to come back to the house and clean up. The gift of being able to walk away from my canvases and not look at them until I return is so refreshing. It is easy to get desensitized to them otherwise.

It’s almost impossible to not tide pool in the afternoons. There are so many treasures and surprises that are waiting to be explored! I can practically hear the ocean calling me to come and play.

And in the evenings when the sun sets behind the house over the hill we either drag the chairs out to watch from our yard or walk up to Mo and Gerry’s house. From there we can watch it slide once again into the Pacific while setting the sky afire in beauty. After dinner it is ritual to sit on the porch, wrapped in blankets if necessary, and enjoy the stars. The only place I have ever seen their brilliance and number matched in in Kauai. When sleep overtakes us we still hear the ocean calling, the waves crashing, promising another sunrise soon to come.

This is what draws me to our beach house in Baja – Nature in all her raw beauty. I am fed by it; it fuels me. I feel closer to God, my Own Self, there than in any man-made structure. The quiet contemplation, the inner delving that accompanies it excites me. And as with anything, I know that I want breaks from that too. Change is a necessity.

But while there, I love to dance with Nature.

For more information about the artwork: Jill Mollenhauer