Clarissa Pinkola Estes posted a letter for her many fans last week.
Her book Women who run with the wolves took 20 years and 42 rejection letters to find publication and become one of my all time inspirational books. In the letter she said....
"Stories are medicine. Medicine for the world. Heavy medicine carried by those who have the deep spiritual muscle to carry the medicine, in fact, persons are chosen. It is not a profession. It is a calling. It is not a bunch of images, symbols and 'stories.' It is a way of life."
Today the mousy little rabbit, settled into her usual spot and devoured her favourite flowers. Is being here photographing the ordinary and the everyday a calling? Is the creative process exercising a deep spiritual muscle? Have I been chosen to carry a heavy medicine for the world?
There were a dozen other lives I almost lived. I'm not sure how I ended up being here instead of ambling down the city streets where I grew up. But here I am, and yes while I can't fully grasp "the calling" I know this is definitely a way of life, that I am home.
Do you ever feel that you are living out your calling? Is your own practice more than "a bunch of images, symbols, and stories"? Is it your way of life?
This week's gallery is a collection called Inklings
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
Sometimes they sit staring into space or take small naps in mid-nibble. As the sun goes down one cuddles up to a rock, settles down and I am left wondering who will survive the stoats and the foxes tonight?
I know now from my lens that rabbits have completely individual faces. Some are braver than others and they seem to have eyes in the back of their heads. The smallest vibration sends them scurrying, their white tails catching the light as they turn towards the hill.
On twitter they joke with me about shooting them! But I see it all through a romantic haze and hang on every bunny hop, twitching nose and silvery whisker thinking how lucky I am to share breakfast with three baby rabbits every morning.
On days like this I open the curtains slowly so as not to startle the neighbours. Sure enough, when I do, there are five rabbits frolicking in the early morning frost just a few steps away. A good start to Christmas morning, when I often remember the giddy excitement of my childhood. Today the magic is in this moment, in the simple everyday goings on of two families. One outside the window sniffing out green shoots, one tucked up in their beds; growing, changing, transitioning.
It's the best part of the day, this early coffee and toast, a private photo opportunity over breakfast. And even though they are men now, it is always the same when they sleep in this house, I have the illusion that they are protected and safe from harm. And especially at Christmas that dreams will come true.
This year in the space before the expectations set in, we made a joint decision that dreams are not necessarily made of gifts wrapped in packages or by playing happy families. We let each other off the hook. The perfect Christmas, the perfect day would be best if kept to a day like any other. One with love, peace and understanding, full of pleasure and freedom, a day of winter warmth inside while it freezes and storms outside.
And so here I am, easing softly into this frosty Christmas morning. Happy in these moments of calm and eager to experience a post Christmas, adults only alternative.
