apparently i have a ‘smudging face’. a look and poise not used at any other time in my life than when i smudge the house, or temple, or retreat. i have no idea where this face comes from. or why there is a shift in my persona when i wander through the rooms, wafting smoke into the corners and corridors. perhaps it is simply a costume i don in order to meet the sacred. whatever the reason, whenever i do it now, i am reminded of my friend merle, who noticed this face and laughingly (lovingly) pointed it out. i wonder what other faces i have that i’ve simply not noticed.
i get weird sentences arriving in my head at random moments. like the one used as the title of this post. i mean WTF?
it is quiet here. well, mostly. the light is steely grey, bringing a softness to the sky. moss-covered rooves1 and the proximity of trees are perfect for quieting my restlessness and quelling any sense of urgency or need to be anywhere but here.
this is the view from where i currently sit. peaceful, despite the close proximity of my neighbours. the smell of sweet vanilla cinnamon fills the room, lit to signify the beginning of some creative time. whatever shows up. i am here.
i’ve had two strong cups of coffee this morning and am contemplating a third. thinking about where the public footpath is that leads to the river; whether or not i go out for supper, or stay here in my quiet cocoon. i have fallen in love with cabin number 27 and it’s faded blue rose-patterned curtains and dishevelled look. but there are always gutters to clean, drains to unblock, repairs. better to let someone else own it and simply enjoy the visit. part of me aches for a physical space to be my home. somewhere filled with my natural eclectic style. comfy daybeds and sofas, a shiny espresso machine, thick cotton sheets and a view over the ocean.
it seems i am drawn to the dishevelled. perhaps it’s because i am. though it is intentional with me.
two of the welsh men i’ve spoken with today have asked about the riots. each with their own ideas of what the punishment should be for the perpetrators. i am simply thankful that no-one i know was affected.
today i’ve also had lunch and a cuppa with a DOer. he was just how i’d imagined him to be, even though i really hadn’t spent much time thinking about what he’d be like. he is interesting and interested. fingers in many pies. multiple projects on the go. he speaks with passion and about passion. we chat about the DO lectures2, cardigan, howies, fforest camp, his new projects and about what it is to do one thing and do it well. i meet his wife, am helped put two and two together and realise that her nana was the source of my favourite welsh cake recipe.
i am drawn to people who look ordinary and who are, in their own quiet ways, changing the world. i hope i am doing this too.
- this is not a typo. rooves is the NZ’ers plural for roof.
- if you haven’t heard of the DO lectures before go check it out. i’ve been a fan since i heard andrew whitley talking about why bread needs time. all the speakers from the previous years are available to watch on the site for free. fascinating. seriously.
3 thoughts on “guardian of the sacred crayons”
Such a beautiful image, Leonie. It’s been a long time since I’ve done any smudging- what a great reminder.
I’m so excited about your creative retreats- do you remember your blog post about being stuck and not feeling ‘good enough’. I think you just came to a standstill for a couple of days. It resonated strongly with me at the time but I wanted to remind you of how far you’ve come! If that doesn’t sound patronising. Love and hugs xxN
I had to look up what smudging was, but once I read about it, I can see why you would have a ‘smudging face’. I have a ‘photo-taking face’ and a ‘thinking face’.
I think you are most certainly a guardian of the sacred crayon. :)
Had to smile … had opened your blog from googlereader, wanting to read this post again and was distracted by looking for Ryan Bingham on youtube. I got him playing, then flicked back to facebook by mistake and what was the latest, top-of-the-page post on my facebook page? Well, it was this: “Everyone is born creative; everyone is given a box of crayons in kindergarten. Then when you hit puberty they take the crayons away and replace them with dry, uninspiring books on algebra, history, etc. Being suddenly hit years later with the ‘creative bug’ is just a wee voice telling you, ‘I’d like my crayons back, please.”
You guardian of the most important things, you
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