Beginning the descent #Pilgrimage~ July

Mountains of the Mani Peninsula

The mule track

Beauty underfoot with every step

Down to the land and sea near Pylos

When walking in Greece, each map we followed advised mule tracks based on whether you were more suited to climbing or descending. I would choose walking downhill anytime over walking uphill! Anticipating the view from the top of a mountain will carry you up there, but the thoughts of a Kardamilli breakfast and a dunk in the sea will help you stay focussed on the way down. 

As I reach the summit of this pilgrimage trail it has come to the turn in the path where I will begin to descend. I'm not sure why this idea is leading me so strongly, or why I can't stay a bit more in the familiar denial and enjoy the view. I just feel, in my whole being, that I am at this downwards turn on the hill.

I am often torn between aspiring to the view from the mountain top or taking the track down to the depths. The race to the top, the climbing of Mount Everest, the peak of your life's achievements this is how we tell the story of the climb.  The tale of the descent is more likely to be one of darkness, valleys and fears. And yet when you get to the top of a wobbly ladder, there is an irresistible urge to get your feet back on solid ground?

Most of my life I have been in training for the art of free falling; frequently saying goodbye, delving into vulnerabilities, observing closely the life cycles around me. My quest now for the rest of this pilgrimage year is to to ease downward, to dig deeper, to take my shoes off and feel the grass beneath my feet. 

It doesn't stop here. Life goes on. I just watched Beau Lotto's TED talk about perception and reality. So today I'm thinking about the fact that the only thing that is certain is uncertainty. (Yes that's the kind of stuff I delve into on a Sunday morning!!)

I've always loved going downhill; the reassuring pull of gravity, the lure of lying horizontal, the damp smell of the earth. So here I go again........

There are more photos of the beautiful Peleponese of Greece in the gallery here

In stillness

They excel in stillness. Sitting and watching. Waiting and listening. On the corner, on a chair outside the front door, at the gate to the garden.

Once I asked a Native American for a clue to the future. Am on on the right path I asked her?

She was supposed to be a seer of sorts and looked harshly into my eyes. Tell me about your life she said. So I told her about teaching and leading, about the emancipation of women and the poor, about trying to pass on knowledge and skills. She remained impassive.

I longed for some kind of reaction and so she said, "Yes, you are on your right path."

That wasn't what I wanted to hear. No. I wanted her to guide me, coax me, to soothe me onto some new path. I wanted her to have another answer. Like that I wasn't on the right path at all, like that I was on the complete waste of time path!! I wanted to be rescued, found, understood. Maybe I just needed a big cry and a hug!!

But now I know, that I only have to be still; that questions are the nub of the whole thing; that there is no one answer and that we are all in the same leaky old boat. 

And when I saw them, each one in such stillness, they left me wondering even more about striving and waste of time ambition.



There are more photos of Greek elders here 

Wild foxgloves on the lane

Wild Foxgloves appear in a new place each year, especially some old patch that has been recently cleared. A corner of rocky earth suddenly gives birth to an abundance of the most exotic of our wildflowers. They nestle under trees and festoon the hedgerows. They peep over the tallest grasses and parade their purply pink lady's fingers up and down the lane.

This year they surround the newly drained meadows on the shores of the lake as a ribbon of vibrant bunting. An odd one grows on a stone wall. Another few wave from the grassy hill. 

It's as if they are cheering us on!!




Check out the Foxglove Lane Gallery for more images

Contemplation

A quiet moment of contemplation from one of my friends. When life is a bit hectic, remember to stop and smell the mint....says she.......


More contemplative rabbits here

Paint yourself beautiful

I know! I'm gadding about a lot recently. It's a long story. This week I'm in Vienna. Strikes me as a conservative and wealthy city. It's only my initial impression and I've never been here before. Right?

Wrong. Turns out today is the Gay Pride March. It's my first proper Gay Pride. It's got bells and whistles. It's got knobs on. It's the whole shebang.

We cheer it on, myself and the citizens of Vienna. The trams are rainbowed for the event, smiley police are drafted in, the city thumps to the beat of the drums. I love this world and everyone in it, especially those who celebrate by painting themselves beautiful, and doesn't it just leave everyone else in the shade......

Alas, I was told that some time later the parade was attacked by christian right wing marchers coming from another direction. How dark and sad, in this city of ghostly memories. 


See some more street photography here

Golden photography

Sometimes you just snap what you can, following your photography path and documenting each step. On other days you fall into a flow, visualising the image before you even see it, lost in a reverie and yet connected to every fibre of the present. 

You anticipate certain factors that add up to the right conditions. Still air, soft light, fields of golden daisies, drifts of wildflowers. The sun is going down casting long golden beams across the landscape. Even the birds are singing in harmony with a thousand dancing crickets.

One hour, on one evening as the sun slowly deflates into the sea. 

They call it the golden hour and it's one not to miss. Those last rays of the sun, how the light is low across the land casting longer shadows and warming the sky to an intensity. A lesson learned that is never now forgotten.

Dark angels #Pilgrimage ~June

Like my own Grandmother in mourning for her mother since 1953, each one is wearing black. They peer from a chair in their doorways during the day but in the early morning or late at night they come out of their cosy seclusion. While the men are down in the bars drinking coffee, they take a chair out onto the street or work in their gardens. 

The Greek language is impossible to me, so there's no hope of a chat and I have to make do with the spell of their shadowy presence. I catch them watching me out of the corner of my eye and so badly want to photograph their faces. Far too wary of the ethics involved, I would never make it as a candid street photographer, and yet I sneak pictures of them when they I think they don't see me.

In a mountain village I spot one walking towards me and point the camera at her through the windscreen of the car. She catches me at it and let's out a tirade! The rest of the time I just get lucky now and then and they float into the frame like dark angels! 

We have nothing in common and yet we have everything in common. Reading between the lines of our signals and greetings there is a depth of shared experience. We look into each other's eyes, we smile and one even winks at me! Life is short, love is all and don't be deceived by appearances.......

See the Elders Gallery here