Go. See. Avatar.
Of course, we are all being told that we have to see “Avatar:” It’s been over a decade in the making; it’s the next big thing in director James Cameron’s oeuvre; it’s going to fundamentally change how movies are made. None of that really matters to me, though. I went to see “Avatar” because my friend, Balsam, emailed me saying it’s the first movie she’d seen with “actual co-creative ideas and moments in it.” She’s right.
The Na’Vi (the blue people living on the planet Pandora, which the U.S. military industrial complex is raping and destroying in pursuit of money and fuel) communicate consciously (and co-creatively) with the plants and animals that share the planet, and all living things on the planet communicate with each other through a co-creative energetic network. (At times during the film, I longed to hop up from my seat, jump through the screen and join the Na’Vi tribe — oh, to be surrounded by others who see, hear and honor the Nature that runs through all of life!) In addition to the Pandoran people, I was also captivated by the plant, mineral and animal life on the animated planet — the artists clearly studied the natural forms on our planet and used them as creative fuel for inventing new species on Pandora. Again, Balsam summed it up beautifully when she wrote that the artists had “the wits and humility” to be inspired by Nature’s “proportions and organization.” Exactly! While watching the movie, I could imagine myself actually walking through the forest, flying beneath the floating landforms, and catching a luminous seed pod in the palm of my hand — precisely because there was an underlying shared organization with the natural forms with which I am surrounded on Earth. (And, it sure does take humility to realize that we cannot “do it better” than Nature.)
After leaving the movie, I found myself wishing for more. I wish that the more enlightened humans’ understanding of the Pandoran co-creative energetic network had been deeper; I wish that the Na’Vi hadn’t battled in such human ways; I wish that I’d seen more about how the plants grew and the animals feasted and less about how missiles devastate. However, this movie is not just for me — it’s for those who are heading in my direction, co-creatively speaking. My true wish is that moviegoers see (through those goofy black plastic glasses) that we don’t have to go all the way to Pandora to discover a network of life awaiting our connection. We’ve got one right here, right now. Let’s just not blow the darn thing to pieces, please?
Who Says Winter is Grey and Dreary?
It’s been good to rest this winter season, to turn inward and allow my resources to rebuild, and yet my eyes and heart keep finding the bits of magic peeking up through the snow and ice, blowing in the sharp winds. I simply had to take a rest from rest and honor all that magic.
Lavender Oil: Co-Creative First Aid
I recently heard someone refer to Young Living’s Lavender Oil as her “first aid kit.” Until then, I hadn’t considered using lavender oil for much of anything other than relaxing. This “first aid kit” woman told me that whenever there’s a cut or bruise in her home, she reaches for the bottle of YL Lavender Oil first. This weekend, I had the opportunity to try this in my own home (read: I sliced open my finger instead of a carrot while doing lunch prep on Saturday…eesh). I washed and dried the cut, applied direct pressure and held my hand above my heart while moving to my kitchen’s essential oil shelf. (See? I did pay attention in the first aid unit of my 10th grade health class.) I placed one drop of Young Living’s Lavender Oil on the pad of a band-aid and wrapped up my cut finger. For the rest of the day, that band-aid smelled divine! (A far better odor than Neosporin, I have to say.) By Sunday night, when the band-aid fell off while I was washing dishes, the skin on my finger had completely knitted together. I stood there stock-still in awe for a couple of minutes, staring at my finger, hardly believing that the cut had already healed — that’s the fastest any of my kitchen injuries has ever healed (and my husband will testify, if necessary, that I have had many, many kitchen injuries…). Plants sure do carry remarkable medicine — and better-smelling medicine, at that.
Note: Please use only therapeutic-grade lavender oil, such as that from Young Living. Most lavender oils are laden with harsh chemicals that can hurt far more than they can heal.
Enchanted Forest Bells
A couple of summers ago, I met a potter who produces amazing pieces — pieces that feel very much created with the earth from which the clay emerges. Every now and then I visit her website, to see what she’s creating and to be inspired by her form of co-creativity. Today, I discovered her Enchanted Forest Bells. The description: “Rough, hand pinched from rich brown Massachusetts clay dug from the earth. A rich, three-layer glaze mimics moss, lichen and regenerating decay of the forest.” What a remarkable act — the making by hand, with deliberate care, a piece of art intended to call to mind the “regenerating decay of the forest.” I simply couldn’t keep this to myself! Enjoy.
Random Pumpkin-izing
The last of my crops to yield food are my pumpkin vines. The jack-o-lantern pumpkin plants didn’t produce this year, but the little sugar pumpkins did. I’ve also picked up some cheese pumpkins and kabocha squash at the farmer’s market in town, so I’ve been roasting and pureeing pumpkin flesh all over the place. First off, let me say that the easiest way, by far, to cook a pumpkin (or orange-fleshed squash) is to plop the whole thing (uncut, unscored) in a baking dish and roast it at 375 for about an hour or so. Once the pumpkin takes on a golden, shiny glow and looks like it’ll collapse once away from the oven, it’s done. The baking dish will be full of golden liquid — don’t toss it! Twist off the stem-handle from the top, peel away the layers of skin, and scoop out the glorious flesh. What about the strings and the seeds? If I’m pureeing the pumpkin, the strings are no problem. I extricate all the seeds, set ‘em aside for cleaning and then toasting (toasting these pre-roasted seeds yields THE BEST pumpkin seeds for snacking I’ve ever had). Then, toss the pumpkin flesh (strings and all) and the baking dish liquid in a blender and pulverize. Heaven! The last batch I roasted yielded four large yogurt containers full of bright orange, sweet-as-anything puree. And, here’s what I’ve done with it all:
- Made a Pumpkin Porridge — After having an out-of-this-world dinner at a vegan Korean restaurant in NYC (Hangawi), I came home determined to make my own version of their Pumpkin Porridge appetizer. I did, and here’s what I do: Sautee a half of a small onion in a little olive oil until black on the edges, add in about a cup of pumpkin puree (or chunks), about a quarter cup of water, and a nice pinch of salt, and stir until warmed through. Then I turn off the heat and add about a half-cup of pancake/baking mix (I’ve been using the gluten-free kind lately), to thicken. If it gets too thick, I add more water. Done. And, yum.
- Whipped Up Orangy Pancakes — Adding in pumpkin puree to pancake mix (and reducing the other liquid in the recipe), yields a super-tasty, super-healthful version of the regular old pancake. Mmmm.
- Added a Vitamin A Kick to Chili – I needed a little sweetness in the chili I threw together yesterday, so I poured in about a half-cup of my pumpkin puree. The chili sweetened up, but not too much, and we all got a little extra something with our tomatoes, beans, and spices.
- Made a Vegan Pumpkin Pie/Pudding — Blending two cups of puree with one pack of tofu (drained), a half-cup of maple syrup, and a little pumpkin pie spice and salt makes a fantastic pumpkin pie (cooked in a pie shell at 350 for an hour) or pumpkin pudding (eaten straight out of the blender with a long spoon, or chilled in the fridge — either way!).
- Threw Together a Power Lunch — I put cooked rice, pumpkin puree, and leftover garlic-sauteed kale in a pan to re-heat and mix together. A splash of tamari (I use Bragg’s Liquid Aminos) activated some amazing flavors, and I had a can’t-get-enough lunch.
- Made a Pumpkin Shake — Today for lunch I’m going to reprise my pumpkin shake: a half-cup of pumpkin puree, a quarter-cup of milk (soy, hemp, almond, goat, cow, whatever), a little chunk of tofu, a squirt of agave nectar (and a couple drops of Young Living’s orange oil for that extra wow — optional, of course).
I’m planning to freeze as much pumpkin as I can, to have on hand throughout the winter, but since the four yogurt containers of puree are now down to just one-half, I wonder if I’ll be able to freeze it before I eat it!
10mm of WOW
This gorgeous bug wandered into my studio one day, and I was able to catch it with my camera. I’m in awe of Nature’s ability to pack so much beauty into something so small. The bug is standing next to a miniature basket woven from tiny glass seed beads. The red beads are about 2.5mm each, which makes the bug about 10mm long. I’m sitting here taking in the stripes of rust and midnight blue on its back, the green-gold of its belly, and all those miniscule hairs lining its gracefully-curved rear leg. I’m grateful to have been able to snap this photo, so that I can continue to be amazed over and over again.
Thieves Essential Oil: Co-Creating Immune Strength
I’ve had a lot of requests lately for information on how I use Young Living’s Thieves Oil to keep myself and my family healthy — especially given the Flu Fear we’re surrounded with right now. In my earlier post on Peppermint Oil, I wrote a brief description of how essential oils work, and it’s worth repeating now: “The molecular structure of these oils allow them to pass easily and quickly from the plant into the air and also from a drop of oil through our skin — and then through muscles, connective tissue and even cell membranes. Science now shows that essential oils have direct effects on neurons, emotions, immune responses, hormones, and more.” If I had to choose one — and only one — personal health care practice, it would be placing a drop of Thieves Oil on the soles of my feet. As far as I’m concerned, a drop of Thieves on my foot does more for empowering my immune system than anything else I do. (Note: The Thieves blend is based on research about four thieves in France who covered themselves in cloves, rosemary and other oils to protect themselves while robbing plague victims. If this blend of oils can keep the plague at bay, I’m feeling good about this cold and flu season!)
That said, here’s my Thieves usage summary that I’ve been emailing around to friends looking for a natural, health-full way to stay in balance:
1) I have my kids wash with Thieves soap (either foaming hand soap or bath bar soap) as soon as they come in the door from school, piano lessons, playdates, etc. (Of course, I wash my hands, too, but I don’t have to cajole myself to do so!)
2) I rub 1-2 drops of Thieves oil on the bottoms of all our feet before we put on socks in the morning and before bedtime at night. I drop the oil directly on the soles of the feet and then rub it in, saying something like, “This is going to help your body be so strong an healthy!” (OK, I use slightly different words with my husband…) Last week, my son came home from school with a stuffy nose and woke up the next morning with glunky nose and throat. I doubled-up the Thieves-on-the-feet program, and by the end of the next day his symptoms were gone.
3) I keep a bottle of Thieves hand purifier in my purse (and in each of the kids’ backpacks) and use it whenever possible — especially after I finish teaching my Music Together classes, with all those runny little noses.
4) I also keep a bottle of Thieves spray in my purse and spray it on doorknobs, inside the car, on faucets, and (of course) on the shared instruments at the music studio.
5) For specific symptoms, here’s what I do — * Sore throat: I toss a drop of the Thieves oil to the back of my throat, careful not to let the bottle touch my tongue or teeth; * Ear pain: I rub a drop of Thieves oil mixed with a drop of olive oil on the outside of my ear, in front and behind (never put essential oils inside the ear canal); * Rattly cough or chest pain: I rub a couple of drops of Thieves oil on my chest and neck, and then I cover my nose with my oiled-up hands and breathe super-deep (getting the oil molecules all the way to the lower lobes of my lungs).
I’m certain I’m forgetting something — there are so many ways to use Thieves. If any of you use YL’s Thieves products and can share additional tips and tricks, please post a comment and share! I’d make a Thieves cocktail and toast to all our good health right now, if I could — so consider yourself toasted: To health!
Into the Wyanokie Wild
A couple of weeks ago, my husband and I headed to Ringwood, NJ for a day hike in Norvin Green State Forest (near the Wanaque Reservoir). We mapped out a 5-mile route through the forest on the Wyanokie Trail System and then spent the next 4-1/2 hours hiking past 200-year-old stone walls, pint-sized waterfalls, old iron mines, enormous outcroppings of glacial and erratic rock, pines, maples, elms, oaks, sassafrass, laurel — and almost no sign of wildlife. At times, the trail was so quiet, I couldn’t decide if the silence felt church-like, or morgue-like.
The rocks, trees, bushes, flowers and other miscellaneous flora on the hike were quite amazing, and I highly recommend spending time on these trails (which were surprisingly well-marked, despite a few wrong turns). But it was over three hours into our journey before I saw a bird flitting from tree to tree — the only one I saw that day. About 15 minutes later I spotted two chipmunks chasing each other (finally! I love those cutie guys…). And we were almost at the end of the hike when I spied the lone insect to cross our path. Sheesh! Where was all the fauna? As we left the trail and headed back to our car, my husband asked, “Hey, what’s that noise?” “Leaf blower,” I told him.” Aha, I thought, leaf blowers. I realized that I’d been hearing the whine of leaf blowers all during our hike, except for spots above tree line (like the Wyanokie High Point, which was simply breathtaking — 360-degree views stretching at least 25 miles into the distance, which we viewed standing atop bare glacial rock with a stunning vein of quartzite running right through).
I’ve read that the incessant whine (too gentle a word — at 75 or more decibels they come in around 100x higher than the “safe” level for ambient noise*) and excessive pollution (they produce 500% more carbon emissions than a car*) of leaf blowers has a profoundly detrimental impact on our flora and our fauna, and I wonder if the forest’s neighbors’ attempts to shoo away those leafy bits of red, orange, yellow and brown have created a sort of woodsy ghost town. (And, honestly, the sight of a man wielding a leaf blower around his house in the woods, shuffling leaves from one tree-filled patch on his property to another, was laughable.) Apparently, the first recorded leaf blower was developed in Japan as a way to gently remove leaves from delicate beds of moss. These early blowers were nothing more than hand-held bellows. Certainly, if it’s necessary to remove leaves from hard-to-reach spots, this is a good solution (and think of how much better developed our biceps and triceps would be).
A friend recently told me that the next generation of leaf blowers will be even louder than the ones currently on the market. Clearly, the industrial designers on the leaf blower teams are not working collaboratively with Nature on developing these super-pollution devices. I shudder to think how our forest environments will continue to degrade with the current noise onslaught, let alone with the addition of even louder machinery. I vote for a little research into those early Japanese bellows-blowers, for those garden spots where it’s really necessary to remove the leaves (though I personally haven’t encountered one of those spots — I think fallen leaves look quite pretty, and it’s no secret that they decompose into excellent plant food).
But, I digress. Please treat yourself to a short walk or a dayhike on the Wyanokie Trails sometime, if you live in or travel to New Jersey. The forest is filled with gifts waiting to be enjoyed. And, perhaps the addition of gentle, co-creative souls to these woods will act as some sort of counter-balance to the noise and air pollution (or other man-made forces exacting a negative impact). Maybe I’ll see you there, the next time I journey into the Wyanokie wild — I’ll definitely be going back, and soon.
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Is That Some Kind of Mold?
Peeking out from beneath the wilted petunia flower in the photo above, is a seed pod from an Akebia quinata vine growing up a neighbor’s porch. If you can ignore the flower (my daughter gave it to me, after “rescuing” it from another neighbor’s yard — eek, sorry Neighbor), doesn’t the seed pod actually look like A Seed Pod? Here’s the fascinating thing: Apparently everyone who came in contact with this vine was taken aback and a bit horrified by the weird substance covering the vine — the mail carrier, the meter reader, the homeowner, friends, and children alike. By the time I walked up to the porch, there was only one pod left on the vine, and the homeowner was thrilled to report that it had just been identified by a local native landscaper as, indeed, a seed pod.
“Is that some kind of mold?” the mail carrier had asked. I am simply perplexed. When I look at this object, I see the pod and I see the seeds. There’s no question in my mind about what it IS. In fact, I think it’s one of the most remarkable seed pods I’ve ever seen! I’m troubled. I’m troubled that I may be one of the few people in my neighborhood who can peg a seed pod when I see one (I and that native landscaper). Maybe the pods are too sexy (they’re the vine’s mode of reproduction, after all) and people prefer to turn a blind eye to that sexiness? (Georgia O’Keefe would have a field day with these pods, I believe.) Maybe it’s just our culture’s deep disconnect from Nature that caused this seed pod misclassification? Maybe it’s both, plus a little more? Anyway, I’m here to say, “Let’s call a pod a pod!” Be on the lookout for someone mistaking a seed pod for mold, or a parasite, or garbage, or a hat, and then please tell ‘em what it actually is — a big, old, honking, gorgeous, sexy-beyond-belief seed pod.
(For more pictures of and info about the Akebia quinata vine, click here.)
Autumn in My Garden: Texture & Shape
Obviously, I felt the call in my last post to honor the autumn color in my garden, but perhaps more astonishing are the emerging textures and shapes. Living in the shadow of the reds, oranges and yellows of their visually-strong neighbors, these fuzzy white flowers, clematis seed-pod remnants and petal-less black-eyed susan’s are easy to miss. However, they deserve just as much of my attention.
